


Dear Mr. Padalecki

by 1bad_joke



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Bottom Jensen Ackles, Breathplay, Choking, D/s tones, Dark Jared, Drinking, Dubious Consent, Explicit Language, Jealousy, M/M, Mentions of Prostitution, Mild Language, Obsessive Behavior, Older Jared, Pen Pals, Serial Killer Jared Padalecki, Student Jensen Ackles, Top Jared Padalecki, Younger Jensen, based on a movie, mentions of rape and violence (non-graphic), mentions of underage sex (non-graphic), misguided opinion on sex workers (not mine)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 07:14:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 27,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21406261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1bad_joke/pseuds/1bad_joke
Summary: Jared Padalecki was found guilty for the rape and murder of seventeen boys, ranging between the ages of fourteen to twenty one. Their cause of death, strangulation. Their remains were found buried in the crawlspace of his suburban home. He was sentenced to serve six death sentences and eleven natural sentences at the Henrikson Correctional Facility. It was the news story of the decade.Now ten years later, Jensen Ackles is a freshman in college, chasing a degree in Criminology with an ambitious idea for his term paper. The subject?Simply put, he was going to crack Jared Padalecki.Based on the film, Dear Mr. Gacy for SPN Cinema Round 10
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki, Jensen Ackles/Original Male Character(s), past Jensen Ackles/Tom Welling
Comments: 54
Kudos: 154





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please, please read the tags!
> 
> The film, Dear Mr. Gacy is based off a true story. I mean no disrespect towards the real victims and those affected by the acts of John Wayne Gacy. I really hope no one perceives this as making light or glamorizing those who lost their lives, even though they are only referred to, not reenacted or described in detail. This story is purely for entertainment purposes and only a J2 interpretation of this film. Funnily enough, this is actually lighter than the movie in a way. This story is also in no way meant to depict a healthy relationship. The breathplay depicted is not safe, sane, nor accurate.
> 
> This ended up scarily longer than I wanted it to, considering when I started writing this it was meant to be 10k at the most. Anyway, if you've gotten through all this, I hope you read and enjoy!
> 
> This unbetaed. All errors found are my own.
> 
> Song mentioned is Even Flow by Pearl Jam

“_In tonight's Breaking News Story: Horror in the Suburbs. The residents in this small community were shocked and horrified when police discovered the remains of four and counting yet-to-be-identified teenage boys. Police search dogs led investigators down to the basement of this suburban home to make the gruesome discovery. The owner of the house you see behind me and the main suspect of these crimes has been taken into custody._

_Jared Padalecki was arrested earlier this evening while attending a fundraiser for the local school district's After School Program. After an anonymous tip, police had his home put under surveillance for the last ten days. They became suspicious when fifteen year-old, Brock Kelly disappeared after allegedly being last seen with Padalecki._

_Padalecki, 29, is a successful local contractor and admired member in the community. Though the news has come as a complete surprise to many of his neighbors, Padalecki has a checkered past of assault and sexual misconduct towards a minor, but the charges were quickly dropped--”_

“Alan, turn the channel. For Christ's sake, Jensen's right here.”

“So? What's your point?”

“He's only eight. He's too young to hear about such... ugliness.”

“Nonsense, he's not a baby anymore. He should be aware of these perverts running around out there. Better chance of him avoiding those freaks.”

“Well... I suppose you could be right. I just-- I just don't want him to have nightmares over this.”

“Please. He's a smart kid, but I'm sure he doesn't fully understand what they're talking about anyway.”

“Even so. Jen, honey, please back up from the TV; you're going to hurt your eyes.”

The brand new Optimus Prime action figure he'd begged for his birthday for weeks laid forgotten on the carpet. As his parents debated behind him, Jensen crept closer and closer to the television screen, the static heat from the thick glass tickling the tip of his nose. He'd always considered the news extremely boring, unless it was announcing enough snowfall for a proper snow day from school, but not so much at this exact moment.

The lady on the screen was talking about a bad man who hurt people, who was going to jail, but that couldn't be right. The picture of the man they flashed up and reflected in his wide, crystalline gaze was -he could only describe- a Disney prince. With his fluffy, brown hair and sharply handsome features and a pearly white smile framed by dimples so deep Jensen wanted to wiggle his finger into.

He looked like the hero, not the villain.

Jared Padalecki, that was his name. Jensen mouthed it in his awe just to feel the odd name twist his lips and flick his tongue.

“Jensen, listen to your mother and move back.”

With reluctance, he did as his dad told him, but it was already too late. From that moment on if his mama knew, she would have preferred he had the nightmares.

:::

_Ten Years Later..._

“Man, hurry up. I've got class in fifteen, so whatever you called me here for needs to be done in the next two seconds, I'm serious.”

With a huff, the kohl pencil he held fell to his side as he rolled his eyes at Christian's exaggerations coming from the other side of the door. Christian -or Chris- was the most laid back of all of his friends, which was why Jensen had asked him to help with this, but on rare occasions that whining tone would emerge. Long-haired cowboys who un-ironically played acoustic guitar were not meant to whine like babies.

“Jeeeen!”

“Alright!” he snapped and dropped the pencil into the sink. He paused with a look of uncertainty at his reflection. This was crazy. His expression hardened. This was going to work. He reached for the doorknob of his broom closet-sized bathroom, never feeling more dumb and determined in his whole life.

“Whoa...” Chris' eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. “Just, um... what the fuck is going on here?”

Jensen shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his arms rising to cross over his bared chest and wincing at the sticky feel of the oil he'd rubbed all over his top half. He had read somewhere it would help highlight and contour his muscles. At the moment, he just felt like a greasy mess.

“Jen, is this your way of telling me you're dropping out of college and becoming a street walker?”

“No!” He jutted his chin out, offended. Although that general aesthetic had been the goal. Some of the victims had been male prostitutes. “This is for my term paper.”

“Your term paper? Isn't it a little early to-- shit, is that eyeliner, too?!” Chris' cerulean eyes drifted over him, trying to compute this stranger in his friend's body.

Okay, so admittedly the freshly fucked hair and baby oil and smudged black eye make up in place of his glasses was a far cry from Jensen's typical, more conservative appearance, but he didn't see any other way than this. It was this or... nothing. Of course there were less debasing routes he could choose for his paper, but he was very passionate about this.

He always has been.

Jensen slid past Chris' gaping figure and navigated through the everyday clutter of his dorm room. He closed the blinds, blocking off the afternoon sun and throwing them both into semi-darkness.

“Uhhh...”

Scooping up the Polaroid camera he'd found at a rummage sale off his desk (no way was he going digital and using a public printer), he pushed it into Christian's hands and scooted past him to switch on the lamp.

Chris eyed the camera in his hands like Jensen had given him something outrageous like a Bad Dragon dildo. He slowly approached Jensen as he went about angling the lamp shade to throw the light on the wall just right.

_Good Enough._

“Jensen, will you please tell me what the hell all this is about? You're weirding me out here.”

Jensen shrugged, compulsively reaching out again to adjust the shade a fraction of a centimeter. “Like I said, it's for my term paper.”

“And how is a cheap Boudoir photo shoot going to help with a Criminology degree?”

“Well...” He moved to run his hand through his hair but stopped himself. The artfully tousled locks took way too long to perfect. “I need the photos to, um, pique the interest of the subject of my paper.”

Chris' baffled gaze narrowed in suspicion. “And just who is this 'subject' that you need to send jail-bait, old school softcore porn to?”

He flinched at the term “jail-bait,” because in a way it was entirely too accurate.

“Okay, One: I'm eighteen, officially a legal adult; and Two: Didn't you say you were in a hurry? So if you could just snap a couple shots, I would be very grateful--”

Chris wasn't budging, even going so far as setting the camera on Jensen's bed and crossing his arms. “Class can wait. Who and why, and don't bullshit me.”

The combination of his rarely used contact lenses and drug store eyeliner was making his eyes itch and sprouting a headache just behind them. He should have asked his roommate to do this. Rob wouldn't ask so many questions. But then again, Jensen was ninety six percent sure Rob watched him sleep at night, so it was probably best not to throw gasoline on that dumpster fire.

“Jen.” He knew Chris wasn't going to let this go. Laid back, yes. Stubborn as hell, even more so.

“Okay,” he relented with a sigh. “I need the pictures to entice Jared Padalecki to respond to the letter I'm gonna send to him in prison.”

“Jared Padalecki... why do I know that name?” The puzzled twist to his friend's face tightened then simultaneously opened in realization. “Jared Padalecki?! As in raped and murdered like fifty boys like a decade ago, that Jared Padalecki?”

“Actually, it was seventeen boys and young men ranging from the ages of fourteen to twenty one, that officials know of.” Jensen's enthusiastic correction didn't appear to impress his friend, and he deflated. “But yeah, that Jared Padalecki.”

“'That officials know of.' Why in the hell would you write to him, especially looking like _that_?”

“But that's my point!” The self-conscious hold over himself loosened with the spark in his chest. “There's a ton that investigators, therapists, even the fucking FBI don't know about what happened all those years ago. To this day, Padalecki denies he had any part in it despite the mountain of evidence against him. There could be more victims no one knows about, families that don't know what happened to someone they thought must of ran away or something. He's on Death Row, and he's filed his last appeal so maybe -maybe- he'll talk to me.” At Chris' doubting look, he rushed on. “I know what you're thinking, but Chris, imagine with me the untapped potential in posing as one of his would-be victims. If I got him to talk to me -fuck, **trust** me and tell me everything- then I could do what no one else could. I could help people--”

“And that all starts with a PlayGirl spread?”

His excitement dimmed. “Well... if you have to cheapen my methods then... yeah. I gotta catch his attention somehow.”

“I get what you're trying to do -I do- but Jen...” Chris eased down onto Rob's sloppily made twin-size. “Does it have to be like this?” He gestured at Jensen's appearance. This time Jensen didn't shy away. Now that he was in the momentum of expressing his idea aloud, he was firmly entrenched in it. “What I mean is, do you think it's wise to send pictures of yourself to some psycho?”

The spike of indignation faded at Chris' skeptical face. “If it helps, I'm keeping the jeans on.” He patted at his hips, but his attempt at levity fell flat. He plopped down beside his friend, ignoring the ripe smell of unwashed sheets. “I understand your concern, but this is my only way in. The guy's locked up behind bars and cement. It's not like I'm meeting him in some dark alley in the middle of the night all by myself. It's just pen pals. The worst that could happen is he doesn't respond and I've given a Death Row inmate jerk off fodder for however much longer he's on this earth.”

“That's not the **worst** thing that could happen, but I see your point. It's a damn flimsy point, but I see it.” Jensen scoffed and knocked shoulders with Chris. His friend jerked away with a sound of disgust. “Hey, don't get any of that Magic Mike shit on me! I like this shirt.”

“Right,” Jensen said with a laugh, casting a dubious glance at the ratty yellow top advertising some rodeo in Bumfuck, Arkansas. “Staining it could only improve that atrocity.”

“You do remember you asked me here to help you, right?”

Jensen perked to attention. “So you'll help me?”

Chris' jaw snapped shut with the realization he'd trapped himself. Jensen didn't even register his glare, not when the prospect of executing one of the key steps to getting started was to close.

“Just answer me one more question: Why him and why now?”

Jensen's head bobbed at answering any questions if that meant Chris would help but came to a stop when he actually heard the questions.

He thought back to that little boy playing in his parents' living room that overheard a breaking news story that changed everything, for whatever reason. A direction. A purpose. It fit in his head. He couldn't rightly put into words why there had been a profound impact, only he knew it was there, embedded deep inside and compelling him to learn as much as he could about Jared Padalecki. This was something he had to do.

Later that same year, he had learned what being gay meant, and he suspected he was definitely that.

It was a significant year all around, but grouping the two instances together felt insanely wrong.

Charcoal-smudged green eyes stared absently through the innocuous poster of some scenic beach he hung up in lieu of more questionable images, seeing ten years back to a mugshot photo of fox-slanted eyes and a wide, pink mouth.

Jensen's shoulders rose and fell in a noncommittal shrug. “... I just find him interesting, that's all, and now seems as good as time as any.”

Going away to college and his eighteenth birthday felt like a new start.

Next to him, Chris blew out a grudging breath. He shook out his mane of hair and smoothed it back with a groan. “Fine.” He snatched the camera across from him and stood. “Trying to race across campus to class now would be pointless. Get up, let's do this.”

Jensen blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. The way I see it, it's only our first year of college. It'd be dumb of me to think I won't need a crazy-ass favor from you, so what the hell. Go on and pose, Kate Moss.”

Jensen, not needing to be told twice, scrambled across the room towards the makeshift spotlight. “Thank you-thank you-thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah, just remember you owe me,” Chris griped as he peered through the camera's viewfinder.

:::

“_Can you explain why you confessed to the murders with police only to turn around and plead Not Guilty in court?” a disembodied voice asked of the lone man on screen._

_The man in prison orange shrugged, the tight line of his mouth turning down at the corners. “What can I say, when you're held in an interrogation room for over forty eight hours straight without food or water, without sleep, and a revolving door of people shouting at you and spitting in your face, you're going to say anything to make it stop. I pled Not Guilty, because that's what I am-- Not. Guilty.” The explanation was interrupted by a sad chuckle as he lifted his hands into view and jiggled the cuffs circling his wrists. “Not that anyone listened. That jury made up their minds before I even stepped foot in that courtroom.”_

“_Ignoring the seventeen bodies that were recovered beneath your house, how come you knew intimate details about the case? Colin Ford for example--”_

“_I'm sorry, who?”_

“_Colin Ford?” The interviewer paused, waiting for some sign of recognition. There was none, only polite curiosity. “... He was an employee of yours.”_

_Cuffed hands rose so one could scratch at a small mole beside the narrow slope of his nose. Delicate brows lifted in surprise. “Really? It's possible, but with the business I am -was- in, I've had many employees over the years, and I can't remember everyone. That's a shame about what happened to him.” He leaned forward, and the camera frame twitched. Seemingly sincere sympathy etched lines across his forehead and around his mouth. “I feel awful he's gone. Even though I don't remember meeting him, I'm sure he was a sweet young man. My condolences go out to his family.”_

“_That's, um, considerate of you...”_

_A bright smile split his five 'o clock shadow._

“_I will say though Colin's parents along with the families of several of the other victims won't appreciate the sentiment. In fact, they have been very vocal about your execution being moved up to as soon as possible and quote: 'Jared Padalecki doesn't deserve to live another day on this planet, and he should immediately be put to death.' What are your reactions to that?”_

_The man's full crescent smile receded to a rictus slash. He cast his eyes down, the length of his lashes brushing the thin and bruised skin underneath. “... I understand why they feel that way, and I'd be saying the same thing about the monster who did all those things they're saying I did. But I'm sorry I'm not that guy. I'm innocent.”_

“_So you're saying you were framed?”_

_A somber face stared imploringly into the camera. “I've never hurt anyone.”_

“_Then how do you explain all of the corpses in your crawlspace? Did they walk in there on their own and dig their own shallow graves and covered themselves in lime?”_

_The room fell silent as Padalecki went rigid. Unruly chestnut locks hung around his down-turned face. Carefully, he stretched his neck from side to side, the fluorescent light catching the tension in the muscles there and the jumping tendon in his jaw._

_A different voice behind the camera cleared their throat, and the interviewer sighed. The frustration from moments before restrained in their next question. “... That was out of line, but Jared, you must have some remorse from what you've done, don't you? Some regret?”_

“_Regret? His face lifted to reveal his brows drawn in perturb. He sat there, his head tilted in confusion like a puppy's as if the idea had never crossed his mind._

“_Yes, regret. You're going to spend the rest of your life in prison, after all.”_

_The man sat back, worrying his bottom lip as he thought. The obvious answer to the interviewer, the camera crew, the guards stationed in the room, even the viewers watching at home was murdering those boys, making their last moments of their lives nothing but pain and fear and degradation before ending them with savagery. That admittance of guilt and apology was what they were silently waiting for. Hell, they wouldn't be surprised by some glib, tasteless answer, such as, “_I regret getting caught._”_

_What they weren't expecting was the other man's features to soften and a bashful grin to slowly tug at his pink mouth. _

_In a quiet voice, he said, “I regret I won't ever fall in love and get married.” A new light entered his hazel eyes as he added more to the fantasy, his cheeks turning pink. “Have a wife and two point five kids with the white picket fence. A real family man life, y'know? I've always wanted to be a father--”_

Jensen's ear buds were torn from his ears, and the everyday noise of conversation and clinking dishware brought him back to the coffee shop he was currently camped out in. He was so absorbed in the old interview footage, watching with bated breath, that for a moment he'd couldn't register Danneel's vibrating presence.

“Please tell me Chris is just fucking with me and you're not sending nudes to a serial killer.”

Jensen blinked, still sorting through his disorientation, until he computed the redhead's words and he sat back with a bitter pout. “... I wouldn't sum it up in those exact terms--”

“Jensen!” she shrieked, garnering the attention from the neighboring tables; not that Danneel cared, sneering and daring them with her glare to say anything until they looked away. That's when her laser stare returned to Jensen. He didn't flinch though. As formidable as his best friend was, Danneel had nothing on his mama. “... Well? If you _'wouldn't sum it up in those exact terms_,' what would you sum it up as?”

Chris and his big mouth.

Glancing forlornly down at the blushing image paused on his phone, he clicked it off with a huff. _Here we go again. _By now he felt as if he should print out an explanation on business cards and hand them out to people.

“It's a necessary evil for my term paper, and they weren't _nudes_, by the way. All things considered, they're rather tasteful.” He thought of the stack of Polaroids hidden away in his sock drawer. Chris had peeked over his shoulder as he scrutinized them spread across his bed and muttered in discomfort,_ “You're a photogenic sonuvabitch.”_

“Tasteful, you say? Well in that case...” Danneel rolled her eyes. “Just because you say it's for your term paper, you do realize that means absolutely nothing to me, right?”

Jensen flashed her a pinched smile -which she readily returned with sharper edges- as he reached for his nearly full cup of coffee. He winced as soon as the liquid brushed his lips. Cold. He remembered it steaming hot only minutes ago. Swallowing it down was not as much as a chore as this was going to be.

“It's just a way to get my foot in the door for interview purposes. It's not a big deal--”

“'Not a big deal'?” He wondered if she was just going to repeat everything he said.

“Yes,” he punctuated with a small hiss and set his mug aside so his drumming fingers could remain under the table and out of her view. “It's boring stuff, really. So what's new with you? Did you do something to your hair? It looks different.”

On reflex, her fingers brushed against the fiery strands draped over her shoulder, thrown by the abrupt change in conversation. “Um, not lately, no...” Her dark eyes narrowed. “You know I haven't, because I would have dragged you to the salon, because you know I can't do small talk. Jensen, what aren't you telling me?”

“There's nothing to tell,” he chuckled, his voice inadvertently going up an octave. “Christ, you're acting like I'm out on the street selling my ass for drugs or something. It's just a picture or two--” _Or twelve_ “--PG-13 rated at the most. The ends justify the means and blah, blah, blah.”

She folded her arms atop the small table where his schoolwork was abandoned and leaned close, studying him. When this happened, he knew better than to interrupt her. She'd find what she wanted. That's how she seemingly “knew all along” when he came out to her in their sophomore year. Eventually her lips curled.

“You're really going to dance around the fact it's Jared Padalecki you're sending these tasteful, PG-13 photos to? And after all the chances I gave you...” she tutted, shaking her head in slow disappointment.

His calm broke with an angry snort. Once again, “Fucking Chris and his big fucking mouth. I thought you guys weren't supposed to talk to each other anymore once you broke up.”

“It was an amicable break up, and he didn't need to tell me the details. As soon as he mentioned a serial killer, I had a good idea of who it was. Really, Jen? I thought you got over your morbid childhood crush.”

He reared back like he'd been smacked. His face twisted. “What the hell are you talking about? I don't have a crush. He's a murderer.”

The utter absurdity at having to establish that made the words stumble from his mouth. His cheeks felt hot.

Danneel, the bitch, nodded along in mocking agreement. “Of course, of course... although I think the secret shrine in your locker throughout high school would beg to differ.” She laughed at his jaw snapping shut and the crimson shade of his ears. “Oh just admit it, you fetishize him like those women who send love notes to Bundy and Dahmer. Padalecki is good looking, I'll give you that, but what's next? Are you going to mail him your underwear?”

“No!” he spat, even though the idea had crossed his mind, but there was no way in hell was he going to tell her that. The important thing was he decided against it, okay? “I do not _fetishize_ him,” he stated like it was a dirty secret. “Is what I'm doing unorthodox, sure, but it's all strictly for education. I could really accomplish someth--”

“When was the last time you've gone on a date?”

His revving up to a speech about altruism through scholarly pursuits sputtered to a halt. “What?” It took his brain long seconds to switch tracks to the entirely unrelated subject. When it all clicked, he too loudly proclaimed, “Hey, I get laid!”

Fuck the stares he received. Despite his conservative style and -by default- perceived prudishness, he had no problems finding decent company to satiate his needs. But that had nothing to do with this conversation. Danni could shove it.

“Oh Jenny, I know you have no issues there.” Her humor rippled under her earnest face. “You're a Grindr pro. What I'm asking is about **real** dates. The kind where you share a meal and conversation and if you do it enough times with the same person, you have a boyfriend.”

His glare dropped as flat as his voice. “I know what dating is, thank you. You know I'm too busy for that.”

Her sculpted brow arched sharply as she bobbed her head. “I know you are. You've always been too busy. You've been too busy since our junior year and your last boyfriend had suspiciously shaggy hair and legs for days.”

Tom. That had ended... not well. His fault. He had forgotten himself during that first time in the back of Tom's truck on top of a mountain of blankets. It had been under the stars and dumbly romantic and Jensen's stupid mouth had gotten away from him. Soon after, Tom had dropped him off at his house without another word spoken. There was never another word spoken between them. Each of Jensen's embarrassed, stolen glances in the halls were met with Tom's own aloof disgust.

It hadn't been love, but it could have been.

She may not know the fine details of what happened, but Danneel knew better than to bring it up. Fuck her for that. The memory of it all darkened his mood.

“What point are you trying to make? If you had bothered to notice, I was doing research before you so rudely interrupted.”

Any trace of amusement vanished at realizing her mistake. She hunched over the table, hands open and reaching for Jensen's own hidden under the table. “I'm sorry for bringing Tom-- bringing all that up. I'm just worried about you is all. I thought you would have outgrown this fascination you have--”

“Outgr-- Being interested in Criminology -which happens to be the degree I'm working for- isn't the same as scribbling hearts in notebooks or jerking off to the Jonas Brothers like certain individuals at this table are guilty of.” Even if his interest was more specifically focused. “Also, there's nothing to be worried about. I mean, holy shit, you're acting like I'm scheduling a conjugal visit with the man. He's just a project, one that could maybe result in helping some people. Now wouldn't that be a good thing?”

“It is, yeah,” she admitted with reluctance, her teeth working the corner of her bottom lip. “But, Jen... I don't care about those hypothetical people. I care about you. If you insist on doing this,” she continued and held up a finger at his mouth opening to argue, “Just please promise me you'll be careful.”

At her warm, caring gaze, Jensen slumped back in his chair. A part of him -larger inside him than he cared to admit- couldn't help but feel petulant. He was the older one out of the two of them, and he didn't need instructions on common sense. He wasn't an idiot. He reached up -dislodging his glasses- to scratch at the twitching corner of his right eye. The skin was a dove gray from poorly washed away two-day old eyeliner.

Eventually he conceded, swallowing back the misplaced venom. He hadn't even started this project, and he already felt tired.

“It's just a letter, and he might not even respond, but sure okay, I promise to be careful despite the fact I'm always careful.”

Her triumphant smile rankled his nerves. “Thank you. I just don't want you going crazy over this.”

The twitching intensified. With an already bitter taste in his mouth, he reached for his coffee, but the cup was snatched from him before his fingers could brush ceramic.

Danneel had always been a sore winner. She paused before the mug's rim touched her lips. “No offense, but for your sake, I hope he doesn't write back.” And with that, she took a hearty, victorious swig of the cold and stale brew and promptly gagged.

Jensen smiled, appeased.

:::

_Dear Mr. Padalecki,_

_My name is Jensen Ackles, and I'm eighteen years-old. I'm writing because I thought you might get bored and lonely where you are and might want someone to talk to. I've been reading a lot about you online recently, and I'm sure most of what the media says about you is a flat out lie. You were unfairly accused. You had to be. I wish there was something I could do to help._

_What can I say about me? I'm a freshman in college, but I'm barely scraping by. I'm not much of a student. I'm only going for this one year to appease my parents, because if I'm not getting an education, I would have to work in construction with my dad. That would be torture. He has such a bad temper, I try to stay out of his way which you can imagine would be hard to do if I worked under him every day. _

_I can't tell him or the rest of my family that I would really like to become a model. I don't know if I'm any good, but it's my dream. I sent along a couple photos my buddy took while we drinking and just playing around. Maybe you could tell me what you think? As soon as I save enough money, I'm dropping out and moving to LA. I can't wait._

_At this point, I don't really know what else to say until you write me back. If you should ever need anything like paper or supplies just let me know. I'd be happy to help. I'm sure there are many other more interesting people that write to you, but I hope you write back. I feel like maybe I could open up to you, like you would understand. You'll see I'm a pretty nice guy. I really hope to become friends._

_I really look forward to hearing from you soon._

_Your friend,_

_Jensen_

His aching fingers helped along the glasses that had slid down his nose drop to the legal pad he was hunched over. Arching back, he stretched and popped his spine, groaning with the tender release of tension. Bleary eyes surveyed the landfill of aborted attempts that surrounded him. Each crumpled ball of paper that littered his desk and the floor around him gradually became the letter in front of him.

He blinked, realizing it was dark outside and chainsaw snoring was coming from the other side of the room. When had Rob come in? Frowning, he checked his phone to discover the time was 3:47 AM. Two missed texts from Danneel, one from Chris, and another one from an unsaved number who had to be one of his past hook ups asking if he was up for a little fun. Shit, even his mom had tried giving him a call.

“Fuck,” he yawned and scrubbed at his dry, itchy eyes. He'd been working on this since seven that evening, and he still hated what was on the paper in front of him. Then again, he was probably going to despise whatever he came up with, no matter the number of drafts. This was too important to mess up.

Other iterations were too obvious of _Murder me, please! I'm just your type! _While others were sounding too much like himself, and that just wouldn't work. His research on Padalecki and his preferred demographic had shaped the persona of the letter. Just a lonely teenage boy, a little insecure, a lot naive, and afraid of his daddy because Padalecki had grown up in an abusive household, and now hopefully the perfect bait for the man to take interest in.

Hopefully.

But just in case his subtle manipulations weren't quite enough, he reached for his most expensive cologne -the one his mother gifted to him last Christmas and he only used for the most special of occasions- and held up the letter. After squinting at the distance between the two in the desk lamp light, he spritzed a delicate mist onto his carefully written words.

Rob's sudden cough splintered his snoring, and Jensen looked over his shoulder in alarm, feeling caught out. He watched the shadowy lump of his roommate roll over and resume his very vocal sleep. Cheeks pink, Jensen sat aside the cologne bottle and fanned the paper in an effort to disperse the smell. Seemingly adequate, he brought the letter to his nose and sniffed. He grimaced as the rich scent filled his nostrils. He felt like a twelve year-old girl dousing love notes for her crush. Instead he reminded himself that this was a part of the role he was playing. Any measure to entice Padalecki to take notice was necessary.

Although the thought of the other man looking at his photos and bringing the elegant tip of his nose to breathe in the same fragrance Jensen was currently inhaling -_Jensen's scent_\- sparked no small thrill through him.

This paired with the photos would be tucked gingerly into the envelope he'd already addressed. He grinned. This was going to work. He could feel it.

:::

Or maybe not.

It had been weeks. Just over two weeks to be exact.

Sixteen long fucking days.

Sixteen days of compulsively checking his P.O. box. Sixteen days of ignoring the worried glances of his friends faced with his mounting agitation. Sixteen days of seeking distractions, only to end up waiting, waiting, waiting, and all he had to show for it was an irritability streak a mile wide and his bottom lip chewed fat and chapped.

Of course he had allowed a couple days for snail mail and whatever process the letter had to go through within the prison but-- Come on! It couldn't take that long, could it? Initially, he blamed the surely flawed U.S. Postal system. There had to have been some oversight or, or mix up, a mistake to explain why he hadn't received anything yet.

Inevitably doubt had started to creep its way in. What if... there was no response coming? What if Padalecki had taken one look at his slut pics and smelly letter and tossed it all in the trash? Maybe Jensen had come on too strong. God, he was so stupid.

He hooked up with four guys in the last week to relieve the stress. _See Jen, you're pretty to someone, just perhaps not to homicidal rapists!_

Jensen would have to start considering different topics for his paper soon.

The little bell above the door jingled its merry, mocking tune upon his entrance into the small post office off Main. The fifteen minute walk from campus was ample enough time to cycle through the emotions of tempered excitement, diminishing hope, and the ever increasing dread. So this time when he unlocked his mailbox expecting more nothing, he couldn't believe his eyes when he saw a lone envelope laying in front of him.

“Everything okay over there, Jensen?” At the counter, Jim's concern floated past the short line of people waiting to send their packages. Jensen had been here enough times the employees knew him by name and he knew theirs.

“Ye- yeah, fine... thanks,” he tacked on, stunned. After adjusting his glasses and yep, it was still there, but he didn't dare assume. With his luck lately it was probably a coupon for the local burger shack.

He reached in and grabbed the envelope with exercised restraint. His cool mask remained in place as his eyes flitted over the sender's address. His pulse leapt. The corners of his mouth twitching, he slid it inside his messenger bag, but his hand refused to let it go.

It took far too long to lock up his mailbox, almost forget to wish Jim a nice day, then not quite run back to his dorm. As far as calm and casual, he was fairly sure he failed, but he didn't much care, not when--

The door to his room closed behind him with a swift slam. His bag dropped to the floor with the letter still in hand. The tight grip he'd had on it crinkled its crisp edge. He considered pausing to catch his breath and collect himself, but after sixteen long fucking days... He tore into the envelope like a kid on Christmas morning. He held up the single sheet of lined paper, marveling over the sharp, closely written words in pencil. Padalecki wrote in all capitals.

Licking his lips, he swallowed down his excitement and read.

_Dear Jensen,_

_That's a unique name. Do a lot of people try to call you Jenny? I won't if you don't want me to. And please, call me Jared. Lame jokes aside, Mr. Padalecki was my father, and he was a real bastard. You're awfully young to be contacting an old man like me, not that I'm complaining. The only people I ever talk to are guards and my lawyer, so you're a breath of fresh air. You're away at college, aren't you? Surrounded by a variety of people your own age. Perhaps we're both a little lonely where we are._

_From what I hear, college can be exciting with all the partying and being out on your own. I never went. Never had the money or the grades. Being a contractor worked out fine for me. Construction isn't for everyone and if you're avoiding it to stay away from your dad, then all the more reason to. If he ever gives you any trouble, do what I never had the balls to do and kick his teeth so far down his throat he'll be shitting them out for weeks. I hope you don't ever have to._

_Running off to California might do the trick. I hear it can be fairly expensive though, so be wise with your money. If your photos were anything to go by, I say you won't have any trouble finding work. You're a very stunning young man. I can't stop admiring them. Your girlfriend is one lucky lady. I think you've got talent. Maybe if you send more pictures, I can be a better judge? Next time, I'd leave out the make up and all that crap. It makes you look like a girl._

_I hardly know you, and I've had quite a few colorful people write to me, but something about your letter draws me in, so don't ever doubt whether you're interesting enough. You would be dead wrong. Seems like wild stuff if those pictures were a result of you and your friend just playing around. Is this friend a boy, I wonder._

_And of course you can open up to me. I want you to tell me more about you, anything and everything. Even if it's twenty pages long, I'll happily hang on every word. Your thoughts, your fantasies, your fears, nothing is off limits to me. _

_Not many people write to me offering to get me writing supplies and believe my innocence. It's been rough lately with waiting to hear back from my latest appeal, but my lawyer is something of an idiot so who knows._

_You're something special, Jensen. I just know it. I think you and I are going to be good friends._

_Your pal,_

_Jared_

Jensen read it twice more before he blinked, tearing his eyes away to stare absently out the window pouring in morning pale sun. The letter was a precious weight held close to his middle. His mind was racing to process Padalecki had written him back. He wanted Jensen to keep writing to him.

_You're a stunning young man. I can't stop admiring them..._

_...tell me more about you, anything and everything..._

A smile was slowly creeping onto his face, illuminated from the inside out.

_You're something special, Jensen. I just know it._

He landed on his tiny bed with a happy flop. He was so_ in_.

:::

Immediately upon reading Padalecki's first letter, Jensen went to his desk and composed another. Well, after a small celebration his roommate, Rob, had walked in on that Jensen had to lie and say he had aced a Biology exam.

The words he wrote seemed to flow out of him. The hesitation from before gone now that Padalecki seemed to buy into him. Jensen had thanked him for his kind words so much so it could have been considered sucking up. Jensen figured every man had an ego to stroke. He didn't mention the man's advice on attacking his father. Jensen felt guilty enough about lying; he was grateful to have such wonderful and supportive parents. That was a nerve he felt appropriate to prod just the once to garner sympathy but not again.

Instead, he wrote about school and his friends (or the few there were). Those details he could lie about: Painting a picture of a lonely boy waiting to escape institutionalized higher education so he can live out his dream of becoming an untouchable model, clinging to every tenuous human connection he could find and struggling to scrape together any money he could get his hands on by doing whatever odd job that came his way. He made it a point to sound vague as possible when describing those “odd jobs,” because he didn’t want the other man man to “judge” him too harshly for it. No doubt Padalecki would assume Jensen was selling himself, and that tidbit might serve as a possible segue into talking about the murders. Jensen would have to tread lightly. He'd watched enough interviews to know the other man didn't respond to direct questions.

When dealing with Padalecki, Jensen needed a scalpel, not a hammer.

Also in his letter, he made it abundantly clear there was no girlfriend or boyfriend or anyone really. He wrote how it seemed no one truly understood him and he was terminally unlucky with love, so he didn't see much point in getting involved. In reality, regardless of Danneel's assertions, Jensen was simply too busy to even contemplate dating. At least that's what he told himself. He didn't try to think about it much.

Sometimes in his quieter moments, Jensen's thoughts would wander to what Padalecki wrote about them both being lonely. That, he thought about too much.

The second letter was more fabricated than the first, because the only honest fact Jensen divulged was his name. The lies felt odd and clunky to his own ears as he quietly read it aloud to himself. He worried that all the lies would be a lot to remember and maybe he'd have to scale it down some. A fact or two couldn't hurt for a feel of authenticity, if only for his own peace of mind. Hell, the man already had his real name, so there couldn't be anymore harm done than that. So he added he took his coffee black and he liked the color blue. Dumb, little, innocuous facts. Jensen's plan was for Padalecki to respond in kind to the synopsis of Jensen's “life,” and their correspondence would focus on that.

Problem was, come to find in the letters that followed, Padalecki didn't seem to want to talk about himself. Not really. He joked about not boring Jensen with the prison gray details. It was a quiet, solitary existence: He woke up, he showered, he ate, most times he read in his cell, sometimes he was subjected to a half hour of daytime TV, and on very rare occasions he was allowed an hour of going outside. He cherished the fresh air in his lungs and the sun on his skin. He mentioned how he used to love going on hikes with his furry girl, Sadie. He missed those a lot. He only hoped she had been placed in a good home when he was sent away. The fact that it's been over ten years and the dog he described was well into adulthood went unspoken. Jensen could taste the melancholy in his words. Padalecki having had a dog throughout his murder spree never came up in all of Jensen's research. It wasn't a groundbreaking revelation, but it showed Jensen could be on the right track.

Padalecki's letters revolved around Jensen. Growing up as the middle child, no one had ever taken much interest in him before, even if it were only in the Jensen he created. Padalecki had meant what he said when he wanted to know everything. He wanted to know what Jensen liked to do when he wasn't working, what movies thrilled him, what music sang to his soul, even Jensen's favorite dessert, coconut crème pie. The way Jensen saw it, he wasn't the focus of his project so maybe it wasn't a big deal if he started to answer more honestly.

Establishing a rapport was important, after all.

The truly most shocking thing of all was Padalecki _didn't_ take the bait of Jensen's intimations of prostitution. He had merely dismissed it with promises of no judgment from him and that he was always available if Jensen wanted to talk about it. Jensen had to admit, as far as what he expected of being pen pals with a prison inmate, he thought it'd be more... explicit? Although he wouldn't know what he'd do if it headed in that direction.

“Okay, I give up. What are you doing?”

He recognized Chris' voice behind him, but he kept his attention on the dapple of sunlight filtering through the leaves above him, their bright green flesh edged with the beginning touches of fall. Deeming the angle just right, the camera blinked and clicked, capturing the image. He straightened from his crouch, fanning the photo. He'd developed a real fondness for the Polaroid opposed to its more modern alternatives.

“What's it look like I'm doing?” He tucked the processed photo amongst the others he had taken this afternoon. There was some clouds, a patch of wild flowers, every cliché nature shot he could capture on the college's small campus. A smirk pulled at his mouth hearing his friend bitching about smart-asses before sauntering into view and settling against the tree they were under.

“I'm not making assumptions anymore about what you do in your spare time, especially when that damn camera is around. I am relieved to see you with clothes on though.”

“Shut it. You think I'm hot and you jizz your pants just thinking about all this,” Jensen replied with a sleazy grin, gesturing at his baggy sweater and his least flattering pair of jeans. Laundry day was looming as a dark and dreadful affair.

Christian's answering gag was enough to get him to pack the camera away, laughing. “I already saw all that, and I'll take a hard pass on it.”

“Hard, hm?” Jensen wriggled his eyebrows, only to be socked in the arm. “Fucker.”

“Pervert,” Chris grumbled through a twitching grin. He twirled his finger at the canopy above them. “So what are you doing? I've known you long enough to know you're not an outdoorsy guy.”

Jensen held his bag closer to his side, affronted. “You make me sound like a shut-in. I enjoy nature.”

Padalecki enjoys nature.

“And today seemed like a nice day to put this camera to use. My mom's been wanting pictures of the campus so... here I am.” The lie came out automatic and easy.

“D'awww,” Chris cooed and reached to pinch his cheek which Jensen ducked out of the way from. “Jenny loves his mama, and he's gonna send her pretty pictures.”

Feigning anger, Jensen glared at his jeering friend. “And to think, I was going to invite you along to lunch, possibly my treat since you helped me out with my project. Well, not anymore I'm not.” With that, he turned on his heel and started walking, unsurprised when he heard Chris hurrying after him and a heavy arm dropped around his shoulders.

“C'mon, you know I'm just playing. I think it's sweet--” A hurt grunt left him as Jensen's elbow jabbed into his ribs. “I'm serious! The only thing my mom wants to know when we do talk is I'm not screwing around and wasting her money. I'm jealous. If I could get away with sending her a couple pictures of leaves, I would. I envy you.”

The tiniest tendrils of guilt wormed their way through him. Jensen tried not to make a habit of lying to his friends; well, only when it was white, little nothings, so telling Chris the photos were for his mom shouldn't bother him, not really. He didn't see the point in the hassle of telling the truth would cause.

The truth was Padalecki's words about how he missed immersing himself in nature where his life now was cement walls and iron bars stuck with Jensen. It made him feel a little bad for the other man. It made him want to do something nice for him, even if it was something lame like amateur Polaroids of green. Jensen knew Padalecki wouldn't think it was lame though. He'd appreciate them, treasure them. Jensen didn't have the intimate details of Padalecki's past or crimes like he wanted just yet, but he was getting to know him in other ways, some innate bone-deep convictions.

“So about that lunch you mentioned?” His friend's wheedling brought him out of his thoughts. Jensen side-eyed his hopeful eyes and saccharine smile.

“I don't know...” He wiggled out from Chris' arm. “You did rat me out to Danni. One could argue you owe me a free meal.”

Instead of jumping to defend himself, Chris shrugged. “One could argue that, but you know I was right in doing it. Going by her reaction, a free meal isn't worth the bitching out I'd get if she found out I kept it from her. You know better than I do how she can be.”

Jensen hummed with a sour twist to the tight line of his mouth. Subtly, he tried steering them in the direction of the cafeteria where the food was cheaper, because he had an inkling he'd be paying for both their meals.

“How is that going by the way? The psycho write you back yet?”

Before he answered, he remembered whatever he said would be scrutinized to the last detail. He was no longer under the delusion that whatever he told Chris would stay between him and Chris. Jensen privately wondered if Chris and Danneel's mutual split was all that mutual.

No, as innocent as it was, the truth just wasn't worth the controversy.

“Yeah, we've exchanged a couple letters.”

_Per week._

“And? How's it going?”

“It's going.”

Going not at all like he expected but in a way, better. The thrill that would go through him opening up his mailbox every few days to find a new letter there waiting for him was a secret pleasure he was growing addicted to. Chris couldn't know about that and if Jensen had it his way, Danni would never ever know either.

His vague responses were drawing incredulous looks from his friend. Jensen's energy level about his project was markedly lower when compared to his first explaining it. Chris, thankfully, interpreted his reticence to speak just as he hoped. He clapped Jensen on the back, his face drawn in sympathy. “Are you going to quit and do something else then?”

_Quit?_ Jensen had to restrain the strong repulsion he had to the idea. He'd never _quit_. He shook his head and shoved his glasses higher on his nose. “It's gonna take time. It'd be naïve to think it'd happen overnight.”

“So then how did your PlayGirl spread go over?”

Jensen made a split second decision. “I ended up not sending them.” At Christian's shock, he explained, “I thought about what you said and I decided not to, but thanks again for helping me.”

Chris' obvious relief twinged inside his chest. “Even though I'm scarred for life, I'm glad you didn't go through with it. If you had sent those, who knows, that creep would only end up wanting more and more. I'm proud of you, Jen.” This time the clap on his back was nothing but patronizing. Chris reached for the door of the cafeteria and held it open for the two of them. “Fuck it, lunch is on me.”

Jensen's answering grin was weak as he walked inside ahead of Chris.

He didn't exactly regret sending Padalecki those pictures. The man's own celebrity and flattering words were a bit of an ego boost, but Chris was right about one thing: Padalecki did want more photos. It was a bit of a sticking point in their correspondence that Jensen danced around. He was just... ambivalent about it. The first batch of photos were intended to get the man talking to him, but to send him more felt... indulgent, maybe? This was for a school project. His unorthodox approach craved some professional boundaries, as arbitrary as they were. The Polaroids in his bag felt like a safe compromise. Jensen knew deep down that if push came to shove and Padalecki was appearing to lose interest, he'd mail more pictures without hesitation.

The only obstacle there was was holding Padalecki off longer, because why in the world would an aspiring model be so reluctant to get in front of the camera--

The solution struck him as he and Chris were parting ways after their meal. He ran back to his dorm, drafting a new letter in his mind.

_I took some pictures around campus for you. Thought they might brighten up your cell a little bit. You don't have to put them up if you don't want to. I'm not much of a photographer -since you know I prefer being in front of the camera- but I hope you like them. Taking them was sort of relaxing. Distracted me from my weekend._

_Saturday was a shit show. I hope you meant it when you said you wouldn't judge. There's no one else I can talk to about what happened, and I still see red when I think about it. Some guy. Some fucking guy freaked out on me as soon as he was finished. He started screaming at me like I **made** him pay me to suck his dick and when I tried to leave, he jumped me and started throwing punches. I held my own against him so don't worry. It's not the first time that I've dealt with his type. _

_What really pisses me off is the asshole hit me in the face. A lot. I don't think anything's broken, but it'll be awhile before I inflict my ugly mug on anyone, most of all you. There won't be any pics for awhile. I hope you're not mad. I think I'm mad enough for the two of us. I just really hope everything heals okay. I don't know what I'd do if-- I don't want instances like this to fuck up my career, y'know?_

Multiple birds, one stone. Later that day when Jensen mailed his letter, he felt confident in having bought himself a little time as far as modeling anytime soon. He was curious to see how Padalecki would respond. After all, the man was more than once on the other side of the exchange Jensen had just described. Maybe not the exact circumstances (that's what he was intending to find out), but it should be similar enough to rouse something. Jensen was more than interested to see what that was.

Two days later in the middle of the night, he got his answer.

The sound of his cell phone ringing was lost on him in the midst of some much needed sleep. When Rob's pillow lazily smacked at his mattress edge beside his head, Jensen shot up with a muffled snort. Disoriented, he felt around in the dark for his phone where he found it on the floor. Bleary eyes already hindered by his lack of corrective lenses squinted to read the too bright screen, not recognizing the number. Who the fuck would be calling right now? Had to be a wrong number. Swiping his thumb across the screen to answer it was a testament to how out of it he was instead of simply rejecting the call and going back to precious, precious sleep.

“Yeah?” he croaked. Leaden weights were attached to his eyelids, shutting them as he sunk back into the mattress. He was halfway unconscious as he listened to the caller's robotic greeting.

“_This is a collect call from inmate, Jared Padalecki, from Henriksen Correctional Facility. Are you willing to accept the charges?_”

For the second time, he shot straight up in bed, any vestiges of lethargy shocked out of him. He didn't quite believe what he just heard -Padalecki calling him- but that didn't stop him from too loudly exclaiming a, “Yes!”

Jensen had watched the interviews; he'd heard all of the snippets of leaked interrogation footage; he knew what Jared Padalecki's voice sounded like. He wasn't prepared though when there was a small beep and a rough voice demanded, “_Are you okay?_”

It barreled into his eardrum and sunk into his bones. His mouth worked uselessly.

“_Jensen, are you there?_”

He shivered.

“_Jensen?_”

He startled and nodded for no one to see like an idiot. He cleared his throat, the muted “Yeah” he pushed from the tightness of his lungs sounded faint to even his own ears. A little louder. “Yeah, it's me.”

An audible gust of relief was heard. “_Oh thank God. I just read your letter and-- you're okay? I need to know you're okay._”

The admission added an extra flutter to his heart jack-rabbiting in his chest. Jensen's mouth opened but any words about to come out were halted by Rob's annoyed groan. “Hey, do you mind holding on a second?” He barely caught Padalecki's short agreement before dropping his cell into his lap to scrub at his face with both hands.

_HolyshitHolyshitHolyshitHolyshit_

A part of Jensen wondered if he was dreaming as he slid on his glasses and climbed out of bed. He tiptoed across the room and slipped out into the dimly lit hall. It wasn't enough time to fully pull himself together, but he could do this. _Deep breath. Deep breath. _He brought the phone back up to his ear.

“I thought I wrote for you **not** to worry.”

“_How could I not when you tell me some random asshole smashed your face in?_” The genuine concern slowed Jensen's meandering steps. He shook his head of it and focused, his tone light.

“It's just some cuts and bruises and some swelling, that's all.” Unconsciously, his fingers brushed against his unmarred cheek. “I gave back as good as I got.”

“_Even still. You should have gutted the fucker._”

Jensen's eyebrows shot to his hairline. What a statement to make considering who was saying it. The words thoughtlessly fell from his mouth. “Kind of bad for business if I go around killing my customers, don't you think? Shit like that is gonna happen. You, of all people, know that.”

Padalecki's lack of response wasn't necessary for Jensen to feel the silence that fell between them. He could have smacked himself. He blamed it on nerves and used that.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured, contrite. “I'm still pissed about the whole thing. I appreciate you calling to check up on me.”

He waited and waited. He knew this silence. He'd seen it several times in multiple interviews and even once while on the stand, so Jensen waited patiently and swore to be more careful with his words in the future.

He entered his floor's student lounge and was pleasantly surprised to find it empty. No drunken groups hovering over a pizza or late night movie marathons. He plopped onto one of the couches with a quiet sigh of relief when the other man eventually spoke again like nothing had happened.

“_Of course, I had to check on you. We're friends. It's what friends do. I just hope I didn't wake you._”

“It's okay. Class doesn't start til the afternoon.” A lie. Class was at eight AM. “I didn't know you're allowed to call this late.”

“_Not usually, but it helps to be on good terms with the guards._”

Jensen forced a small laugh, adding levity to his next question and what was truly bothering him. “And h-how did you get my number? I don't remember writing it down.”

He hadn't. He knew he hadn't.

“_It also doesn't hurt to have friends in high places. It was a simple call_.” He could hear the shrug through Padalecki's voice like it really was just that simple. Jensen thought back to the time just before the other man's arrest where there were murmurs of political aspirations and connections he was forging through hefty donations from smart investments.

“_... What's the matter, you don't like surprises?_”

“No, no, it's not that...” Jensen hedged, mind racing. If the other man could acquire his cell phone number so easily, what else could he find out? “It's just, um, strange to be actually talking to you after writing letters for weeks.”

“_It is, a little,_” Padalecki chuckled. “_But better, I think. Your voice is deeper than I imagined--- I'm sorry, that was a weird thing to say._”

“I get that a lot actually.” Jensen unknowingly smiled at the loose thread he was picking at poking out of the couch's armrest. Something about the mild embarrassment blushing the other man's tone softened Jensen's trepidation. It helped make him more of a regular person in Jensen's mind.

Acting natural and embracing the benefits of a phone conversation could only be a good thing, he reasoned.

“So... tell me about your day.”

“_Probably very boring in comparison to yours._”

Jensen groaned, and it wasn't entirely fake. “Man, I'm sick of talking about me all the time. Tell me about you. My day was essentially wearing a bag over my head. You go.”

The laughter that poured from the speaker was boisterous and did warm things inside Jensen's belly.

“_I highly doubt you would ever need to wear a bag o__ver__ your head. Don't you know pretty boys are only truly pretty if they're even prettier while bloody and bruised? And I've got a feeling you're still breathtaking. But if you insist to hear about me, remember you asked for it._”

Jensen got himself comfortable, seeing the big fat A on his term paper and his goals met. “Bring it on.”

They proceeded to talk for what didn't feel like hours.

Padalecki described the cold minimalism of his cell and thanked Jensen for the nature photos he sent. On one wall was a collage of artwork strangers had sent and particularly touching notes from admirers. (Something about that made Jensen's supine form tense and his teeth grit.) Jared then shyly admitted all of Jensen's pictures and letters had a special place all their own, carefully organized on the wall Padalecki's bed butted up to. He wanted them to be the first thing his eyes fell upon when he woke in the morning and the last thing he saw when he drifted off to sleep at night. If Jensen's lips curled in satisfaction at hearing this, no one was around to witness it and ask why he looked so smug.

The other man spoke of the music he missed and movies he overheard the guards chatting about that he longed to see. Also it was important to not even get him started about food, except he got himself started and proceeded to drool over all the dishes he'd kill for while at the same time cursing what the prison deemed edible.

Jensen just laid back and let Padalecki's words wash over him. He listened intently for the details but more often than not found himself laughing at his lame jokes and forgetting just who exactly he was talking to.

Then -what felt like out of nowhere- it became keenly obvious.

“_You ever been in a relationship?_”

From the easy cadence of shallow topics to something of substance so casually thrown at him knocked Jensen off kilter.

“You know I'm single,” he replied dumbly. He knew it wasn't what Padalecki was asking, and the older man clarified as much in wry amusement.

“_So you've told me. I meant have you ever been in one. You sounded so against the concept in one of your letters that I'm curious._”

“Oh,” left him in a breath, “Of course.” He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, suppressing how ridiculous it was to react this way to a normal question. “... once, years ago. What -erm- what about you?”

“_It'd be pretty sad to be pushing forty and never had one, don't you think? Was it puppy love? What happened?”_

Jensen's brow furrowed. Having to think about Tom twice in the last few weeks was more than he had to in the last two years. Danneel initiating it was meant to have some sort of bullshit significance to his project in her eyes. Jensen had swiftly dismissed it, but now the idea had wormed its way into his brain, and now he couldn't help but feel self-conscious about it.

Fuck, he didn't like thinking about that night. He didn't want to think about what had happened.

“It just didn't work out,” he supplied with no inflection.

“_That's it?_”

“Y-yeah.”

Padalecki hummed in doubt and just the sound of it was like splashing alcohol on a fresh cut. Jensen's voice went whipcord tense.

“Did you want to review why every single one of your relationships failed, because I'm sure your reasons would be way more exciting than mine.”

The other man didn't seem deterred. His breath filtered through the line in a semblance of a laugh. “_I just hadn't met the right person. See? Not that exciting. I'm sorry, it wasn't my intention to strike a nerve--_”

“You didn't,” Jensen interjected oh so convincingly. “I just wasn't expecting you to suddenly want to talk about that. I'm still young. I'm focused on school and my career, and maybe some people just aren't meant for relationships.”

Amidst Jensen's soft panting, Padalecki fixated on a fraction of his statement. “_I thought you didn't care about school?_”

Jensen's pulse jumped. _Shit_. “I don't. I meant, um, I still have to get decent grades to keep my parents happy or I'll have to move back home. Kinda hard to, uh, turn tricks--” The phrase tumbled awkwardly from his mouth. “--under mom and dad's roof, y'know?”

_Pull it together, Jensen._

He glanced towards the bank of windows and did a double take in surprise. The black stretch of twilight was giving way to the bruised peach of dawn.

“Holy crap,” he muttered with a disbelieving grin and rubbed at his dry, gritty eyes.

“_What?_”

“The sun's coming up. We've been talking for hours.” The realization baffled him in the most amusing way, but then a certain reminder struck him with horror.

“_**\--Will you accept the charges?”**_ His stomach dropped at the memory.

“Fuck,” he heaved, numbers calculating in his brain in a dizzying yet useless frenzy. “The call charges. We've been talking for hours. Fuck, I can only imagine how much this call is gonna cost--”

“_Hey, it's okay_,” Padalecki soothed. “_I'll take care of it_.”

That broke through Jensen's mounting hysteria. “You will?”

“_Of course. I called you, remember? I just have to talk to some people and straighten it all out. __It's no problem. __You need to save every penny you can._”

An undefined shift took place inside him at the other man's reassurance. Jensen ignored it in favor of the rush of gratitude he felt. “Really? Thank you so much.”

His parents supported him in many ways, but his phone bill and food was all his responsibility. This phone call would have been a major hit to his savings he'd built up in part time jobs all throughout high school.

“_Don't thank me. We're buddies. Maybe I can talk to Ty about working something out where we don't have to deal with this collect bullshit._”

“Ty?”

“_Just a good guy I know in here_,” was all he provided which piqued Jensen's curiosity in the most conflicting way. Jensen chose to focus on the insight that could be gained from learning about the kind of relationships Padalecki had in prison and not that the idea in general made his green eyes flare.

“Are you sure you can trust this Ty guy? I don't want you getting in trouble just to talk to me.”

A soft snort left the other man. “_I'm sure. And besides, I'm on death row, Jen. I doubt I could get into anymore trouble._”

“Don't joke about that,” Jensen chided and bit down on his tongue.

“_Aw, so you do care_,” the other man teased, unaware of the Jensen he knew and the one in reality were a bit too much in sync at that moment.

“Of course, I do.” Jensen did care. He cared about his grade. He cared about making a difference. He cared about proving Danneel fucking wrong. “Like you said, we're friends.”

“_That we are... __I guess__ I'll let you get some beauty sleep._” The reluctance dripped through the call connection. “_If your caller ID shows an unknown number, it's probably me, okay?_”

“Okay.” That same hesitation to hang up colored Jensen's tone. “... Just don't get caught, alright?”

“_Pfft, the risk is worth it if I'm getting to hear my favorite boy._”

So matter of fact. Jensen's insides fluttered and he wondered if this is what the victims felt at first when Padalecki set his sights on them. Like he was needed. Important. Special.

After following his story for years and as tired as Jensen was, it was a heady feeling.

“_I'll talk to you soon. Good night, Jensen_.”

Face warm and lips numb. “Have a good day, Jared.”

The call disconnected, and Jensen sat there digesting the last few hours as the room brightened with the rising sun and the first signs of life rustled throughout the dorm. He convinced himself that was a productive conversation, and he should go scribble down his notes while they were still fresh in his mind, but all he could think about was how he called him “Jared” and how it fit just right in his mouth.

Jensen told himself that didn't matter.

:::

Jensen would insist he was not storming from the lecture hall. He was a mature, young man who knew how to conduct himself appropriately. He was simply leaving with purpose and subdued anger. If anyone else were to describe his exit, they would most certainly say he was storming out. His jaw flexed and cracked as he chewed on the acidic words he'd bitten back from his professor.

While his classmates were packing up to leave, Professor Omundson had asked Jensen to speak with him. Jensen didn't think anything of it; he was used to receiving praise from educators and requests to tutor some of his struggling peers, if he'd be so kind. That's what he assumed was happening. If that had been the case, Jensen's blood pressure wouldn't be skyrocketing.

The conversation was short. Professor Omundson didn't want to keep him long. He wanted to applaud Jensen on him getting such an early start on something that wasn't due until the end of the year, but he wondered about the academic value of Jared Padalecki. The man was a dead end. What was to be gained from only talking to the man? Omundson merely wanted to “challenge” -that's the word he used, “challenge”- Jensen on the merits of studying a serial killer, such a trite and overdone subject. It might be wise for Jensen to change topics while it was still early. The term paper was worth half his grade after all.

Jensen, with the patience of a saint, listened and nodded along with an interested veneer, but in the end politely disagreed. There absolutely was academic merit to what he was doing, and he wanted to “challenge” Omundson with reserving judgment until his project was finished. Perhaps he had gotten a tad heated towards the end of their discussion, but that was to be expected.

Jared was not a dead end.

That's another thing that added to his frustration. The distance that came with referring to Jared as Padalecki was gone now. He was just Jared in Jensen's mind. Making the switch had been too easy.

As he changed directions from heading towards the dorms to a caffeine pick me up instead, he pondered on the idea that in one aspect his professor may have a point. His paper could do with some varying input from just himself and Jared. “A well-rounded perspective.” Omundson suggested more research, possibly arranging some interviews with professionals.

The funny thing about that was Jensen had done the research and the interviews. (Only so many people were willing to speak with a college freshman.) Jensen even managed a brief video call with an Agent Jeffrey Dean Morgan of the F. B. Fucking I. It was one of the first things he did and what really set him on his path to go as in depth as he hoped to. As prolific as Jared Padalecki was, not much was truly known about him save for the facts that could be put on paper: His DOB, his family, assumptions made about his home life from hospital records, his schooling, and the fact he paid his taxes every year. As far as motivations and resolution to the theory that there were more undiscovered victims rotting somewhere... that file was woefully anorexic. Agent Morgan had shrugged at Jensen's dismay -”It was over a decade ago and we caught the guy, what more do you want?”- and mockingly saluted Jensen with a “Good luck, kid.”

Well, there was one more lead he had yet to pursue. He told himself it was procrastination and not avoidance that he hadn't gotten to it yet.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he read the foreign number with a small jolt of excitement. He picked up with a quick, “Hey, hold on a sec” and scrolled through his apps, locating the recording program. Once it was all set, he brought the phone back to his ear with a shy laugh.

“How are you doing, Jared?”

:::

Later, not much long after he bid Jared goodbye, Jensen sat at his desk, worrying his bottom lip and gazing down at a particular section of his research. It wasn't so much the research that bothered him. It was the ten digit number he had finagled out of Agent Morgan from Jensen's doe-eyed pleading.

Matt Cohen was sixteen when Jared had allegedly lured him into his home with the promise of pot and booze. Hours after entering the home, he bolted from the residence with his clothes torn and abrasions around his wrists and throat. Cohen didn't report the incident until the other man's arrest. The details of that night weren't on public record, and Cohen had refused to testify. He essentially went underground when news outlets harassed him for his story day and night.

No one had heard from him since... and here Jensen was with his phone number.

He didn't know why he was angsting over this so much. If Matt Cohen turned down Diane fucking Sawyer, there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell he'd have anything to say to Jensen.

Dialing the number before he could talk himself out of it, he listened to it ring and ring and ring and... ring. He jumped at the answering machine picking up and froze momentarily at the prompting beep.

“H-hi--” his voice cracked. He should have planned for a voice mail. He cleared his throat and adopted his most professional tone. “Hello, my name is Jensen Ackles. I'm hoping to get in contact with a Mr. Matthew Cohen. I'm calling in regards to a paper I'm writing about Jared Padalecki. I just have a few questions--”

He almost dropped his cell at the sudden, harsh voice that interrupted him.

“_Leave me the fuck alone. Don't ever call here again._”

Taken aback, Jensen's tongue tripped over itself to apologize, not that it mattered. The call immediately disconnected.

_Well... shit._

He sunk in his chair, eyes wide with his phone held limp in his hand. He didn't know what standards Professor Omundson measured by, but Jensen was no pest and that was most definitely a dead end.

000

_Thoughts arrive like butterflies_

_Oh, he don't know_

_So he chases them away_

_Someday yet he'll begin his life again_

_Whispering hands, carry him away_

_Him away, him away_

_Yeah_

Thrumming guitar and Eddie Vedder's baritone poured from his laptop speakers, but Jensen wasn't paying attention to that. All of his concentration was on the barely audible voice humming along to the music and occasionally singing a phrase or a string of lyrics. He strained to hear that dark, velvet smooth growl rumbling through the speaker phone.

Surprising Jared with a listen-through of one of his favorite albums was an enthralling experience. Not many people got to experience this, and Jensen was glowing with the superiority that knowledge gave him.

As the song drew to its end, a satisfied exhale blew static down the line. “_That was... amazing. Thank you, Jen_.”

Smile unknowingly soft, Jensen shut his laptop and propped his chin on top of his folded arms beside his phone. “It's not much, but you're welcome. I'm glad you liked it even though the quality was shit.”

Jared scoffed. “_Compared to what I'm used to? The quality was superb. Damn, that was so good. Really gets the blood pumping like it used to._”

“Like it used to?”

“_Yeah, ten sum years is a long time to go without... you know. That song brings back a lot of special memories._”

Jensen perked up at that. “Special memories? Like what?”

“_Now Jen..._” Jared's voice went low, playful. “_You and I both know you're not that __innocent__. Maybe __sometimes you're paid to act like you are, but you know exactly what I'm talking about. After hearing a song like that, tell me that isn't the kind of music you don't want to fuck to_.”

Heat sparked low and crawled its way up Jensen's neck. Paranoid, he peered around his room where he knew he was alone. They weren't ever alone though; this was being recorded.

His tongue swiped over his dry lips. “... I suppose... but, um, there usually isn't much time to put on music and light candles while I'm working. Unless they want romance, that's not what they pay me for.”

Jared chuckled. “_No, I suppose not... They pay for something else. They pay to get off, sure, but there's more to it than that, right?_” His voice had gone deeper -darker- and took on a lilting quality. “_How many of the guys you've been with were married? They turn to you for all the dirty, nasty secrets things they can't ask their wives or girlfriends for. Maybe they come to you just to feel like a 'Big Man' having a sweet, little twink down on his knees. To feel that intoxicating power... but you and I know the truth about that, right, Jen?_”

His mouth was desert dry. He blinked, eyes a little hazy behind his spectacles. “The tr-truth?”

“_Yeah, that it goes both ways, but in the end you're the one with all the power, sweetheart. They may grab you by the skull and fuck into your mouth, but you're the one in control. Your mouth, your tongue... The power to get somebody off with your tongue is wild. Do they ever return the favor? It's a shame if they haven't. I can even see myself doing that to you._”

A pathetic whimper fluttered in his throat, and Jensen realized with a flustered jolt that that had come from him. His skin from the tips of his ears was flushed all the way down to his--

He sucked in a shocked gasp of air and choked on it, coughing and hacking while Jared expressed his concern. Teary-eyed and voice curdling with another suppressed cough, he rushed to assure the other man he was fine. He just... swallowed wrong. No one was there to see, so Jensen smacked himself.

“_Are you sure? I'm sorry, Pearl Jam has an effect on me. I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable._” And just like that, Jared's tone had lightened back to its pleasant timbre. Jensen stared at his phone, bemused. “_Jen? Are you mad? Please don't be mad._”

Jensen startled, forcing himself to focus and rushed to say, “No, no, of course not. I just, uh, looked at the time and realized I'm running late.”

“_Running late __for__ what?_”

Good question. Jensen didn't know.

He floundered for an answer. Class was out as an excuse; Jensen had already told Jared he was done for the day. It was too early for “work.” Just then, like someone had heard his prayers, his cell lit up with a text from Chris asking what he was doing.

“Chris! We're supposed to hang out.”

“_... Chris? Who's Chris?_”

“Just a friend. I think I told you about him. I think we're grabbing food or something.”

“_Grabbing food... that sounds like a date. Or are you rushing off to the 'or something'?_”

Jensen paused, noticing the odd tension in Jared's voice. “No... Chris is just a friend, and it's just food.”

“_Are you sure about that? You wouldn't lie to me, would you, Jen?_”

Alarms went off inside him, and Jensen took a calming breath. _He's not asking about that. He doesn't know. You're fine._

“... Of course, I wouldn't, Jay. I'd never lie to you. You're my friend, and friends don't lie.” He flinched. Last summer's binge watch of Strangers Things was a damn mistake. His only saving grace in that slip up was the person he was talking to had no knowledge of it. He waited with bated breath for Jared's reply.

_Oh wait, it was “Jay” now, wasn't it? _The nickname had sort of slipped out. Accident or not, it thankfully worked in his favor.

Jared grumbled, albeit pleased, “_Jay, huh? No one's called me that before... Look, I'm sorry, Jen. I don't know what I was thinking. Please, __please__ forgive me?_”

It's not like Jensen had a choice. Looking down at his lap and the slow to recede situation there, he had dodged a bullet.

:::

A little over a week later, things between he and Jared had more or less went back to normal. The conversations seemed to steer clear of anything remotely sexual, save for one small hiccup on Jared's part when he asked Jensen how business was going and jokingly added to, “_Please spare no detail_.” Jensen's own delayed answering laugh was enough for the older man to murmur something similar to an apology and the subject was dropped.

His skin crawled with the awareness of Danneel's stare from across the stretch of grass he'd put between them. Jared's call schedule was steady at best but erratic at worst. Jensen did his very best to adapt and make himself available. He could tell this time Jared was none too pleased to be rushed off the phone, but Jensen could only apologize. The fact he was on the phone for as long as he was already, was going to no doubt prompt an interrogation, courtesy of one Danneel Harris.

“Sorry about that,” he hurried to be the first to speak before she got the chance to ask. “My mom could go on forever about home and the latest town gossip.” Situated on the open patch of grass opposite of her surrounded by open books and notes, he schooled his expression into something open and unassuming. “So, where were we?”

Danneel's probing gaze lingered before falling away to the textbook open in front of her. She sighed. “Inverse functions and their derivatives and oh my God please kill me now.”

Now Jensen remembered why he had been so eager to take Jared's call. He groaned. “There isn't enough coffee in the world to understand this.” As often as he received decent marks in Math, it was a subject he had to work harder at than others, and he took no interest in it. He studied the blur of numbers and letters in front of him, seeing only an alien language. “Scratch that. Coffee isn't going to do it. I need booze. Lots of booze.”

“Hmm, I believe I can help with that.” The redhead shut her book with a definitive snap. Her serpentine grin only spelled either good things or very, very bad things. In this case, Jensen would take anything over this brain-numbing torture. The fact they had barely gotten started was irrelevant. His hopeful look encouraged his friend to continue. “Zeta Psi is having a party tonight. I don't know about you, but having a couple drinks and finding a hot boy to grind against sounds eons better than this nonsense. What do you say, are you in?”

His gut reaction was to say no. Jared could call. Then he realized how totally uncharacteristic that would be of him. That would surely arouse Danneel's suspicion.

But still...

“I don't know...”

“Oh, come on, Jensen! I need a wing man, and Chris and I have been talking--” _Here we go._ “-- and we're worried about you. You've been such a recluse lately. That's not like you.”

Jensen adjusted his glasses, his eyes narrowing. “Am I the child in this weird, joint custody agreement in the divorce between you two or something? Y'all seem to conspire behind my back, but you're never in the same place together. What's the deal with that?”

“Honest answer?”

“Yes!”

She reached over and took his hand in hers, blinking doe, brown eyes at him. “Your father and I love you very much and we just want what's best for you--”

“Oh shut up,” he laughed and snatched his hand back.

“But seriously, come out tonight. I know you've got love letters to psycho killers to compose--” He froze. “--but one night out won't kill you. Please come with? It's been forever since we've gone out. I miss you. Please?”

He frowned, not entirely convinced but warming up to the idea. It had been awhile since he'd gotten out of his dorm for the sake of having fun and not having to think about anything for a night. Even longer since he accomplished that by getting lost in another person's body.

Yet a nagging feeling he refused to name Jared pulled at him.

“Are you really going to make me beg? Well, more than I have already?”

Jensen's thoughts went to last week to the heat in Jared's voice and the salacious things he said and Jensen's own reactions...

“I'll go,” he blurted, taking the other girl by surprise which transformed into delight.

“Really? Wait. Don't answer that. You already said Yes, and there's no way I'm letting you change your mind.” She let out a happy squeal as she started packing up all of her books. “I'm so excited! Come on, let's go get pretty and scarf some food to soak up the cheap beer.”

Slowly, Jensen followed her, trying to convince himself this was a good idea.

:::

Correction: It was a fantastic, fucking awesome idea.

That was the fleeting thought he had as the pair staggered into his room well after two in the morning. For a moment, he wondered why they wasted so much time walking back to his dorm, but then he remembered slurring against the full lips of some gorgeous giant that no way was he making that Walk of Shame in the morning. Said full lips nibbled at the side of his neck while a large body herded him towards the bed and all thought left him. A push and he landed with a mindless laugh. An insistent tongue and groping hands muffled his amusement and his laughter eased into a groan.

The night had been just as anyone would expect of a frat party: Too many bodies, loud music, red solo cups in every hand, and the world's most obnoxious beer pong game. For a night out together, he lost track of Danneel quickly. She had disappeared with a girl from her American Lit class, and the last he saw of her, she and her friend were cackling and twirling each other on the dance floor while some tongue-waggling moron tried to come between them and was sneeringly rebuffed. He knew she would be fine.

Jensen had ended up drifting around the house, stopping to chat with people he recognized from class and drinking half his weight in beer. It was disgusting and a little better than warm, but it didn't matter. It was a way to escape the thoughts he'd been having lately -_or were always there-_ and only now was he aware of them.

Just when it'd been awhile since he had seen a familiar face and those insidious thoughts were creeping back in, he saw him.

If Zeta Psi had their own resident Greek god then Jensen had found him. Standing a head taller than the sizable group of admirers around him, Mr. Greek God shook out his dark, curly hair from his classically handsome face as he laughed through a brilliant smile and bared a tan, stubbled throat. Jensen's mouth had gone dry at the sight.

He didn't know how, but he knew that was the boy he was getting lost in tonight.

Even now the heavy body on top of him was doing a decent job of smothering higher brain function and compressing it down into _suck-kiss-need-fuck yes-more_. His hands clawed at -Jacob's?- clothes like they personally offended him until -Joey, maybe?- pulled back with a chuckle and yanked his shirt over his head to which Jensen gasped. Liquor-bright eyes drank in smooth, caramel muscles. In a blink, they were both down to their underwear which suited him just fine if the erection grinding against his own was an indicator of the ride he was about to go on.

When he was about to direct -John?- to his bedside table where he kept the condoms and lube, his phone started ringing. It took a moment to register the sound and when it did, it was as if talons reached between the slats of his ribcage and _pulled_.

Jensen disconnected their mouths with a smack and braced his hands against hard pecs. “Hold up a second. I need to get that.”

“Ignore it,” was mumbled into his neck as sloppy kisses trailed up and down and around his neck. Jensen hardly felt them, numbed by his need to get to his phone.

“I. Can't.” he ground out and started pushing more insistently. He couldn't just _ignore_ it. His cell ringing set off a Pavlovian response in him. When Jared called, Jensen answered. It was as simple as that.

His panic only increased when the ringing _stopped_.

“See?” The boy above him smiled as he came up for air. “All better. Come on, babe, let me make you feel good.” Fingers plucked at the waistband of his boxer briefs, and Jensen almost -almost- allowed himself to relax. His dick was still on board, and really it could have been anyone that called: A telemarketer, a wrong number, or-or--

His phone began ringing again, and this time it sounded louder and more demanding to his ears.

He started pushing with renewed vigor and his bed partner sat up with a huff, giving Jensen space to wriggle out from under him to slide to the floor. He cursed the beer in his system making his movements slow and clumsy. His anxiety spiked when he couldn't immediately find the damn thing. The ringtone was coming to an end. Articles of clothing were crumpled and thrown aside until he heard a reassuring thump. Jensen dove for the lit up device, oblivious to the frustrated snort from the bed and the muttered, “Why are the pretty ones always fucking crazy?”

Jensen fumbled with the phone and his bleary eyes -rebelling against the contacts- squinted at the screen. He barely read the fuzzy jumble of numbers before he answered with a panted, “Hello?”

“_What the fuck, Jensen?! You always answer. Is everything okay? Are you okay?_”

Hearing Jared's voice, Jensen relaxed. A drunken grin crookedly emerging on his face. “Yeah, yeah, everything's fine. I'm sorry, I couldn't find my phone.”

“_It's okay--_”

“Are we doing this or not?”

Jensen jumped, craning his neck to glare at his guest lounging above him. In response, the other boy only raised his thick brows and crossed his even thicker arms over his chest.

“_Who was that?_” The tension in Jared's question flooded Jensen's frame.

Oh, oh no. He had not thought this through. He needed to get laid, but then again he had to pick up the phone. He should either make up an excuse and hang up or kick -Jordan?- out right now. That's what he should do.

But what he did do was squeeze his eyes shut -heart hammering- and in the calmest voice said, “No one. That was the TV.”

“Unbelievable,” the other boy grumbled, flopping back on the mattress and scrubbing at his face. Jensen shot pleading eyes at him.

The tension was still present in Jared's voice, but to Jensen it felt different somehow. “_You're up late. Anything good on?_”

Jensen hunched around his phone, cutting his eyes away from the miles of tantalizing skin on display. “Hey what's wrong? You sound--- off.”

He expected Jared to be typical Jared and to brush off his concern with denial and make a lame dad joke, but this time he went quiet -which wasn't unusual- and Jensen heard his breath shudder through the receiver. “_... I, uh, finally heard an update about my appeal from my lawyer today._”

A sinking began in the pit of his stomach. He still had to ask. “And...?”

“_It's, uh, it's--_” Jared's smooth baritone cracked. “_It's not looking too good. Jensen, that was my last appeal. I don't know what I'm gonna do i__f__\--_”

“Will you get off the stupid phone now? I'm losing my fucking buzz here.”

At that loud outburst, Jensen's free hand slashed frantically at the air to silence -Jake- but it was too late.

The damage was already done.

Jared's voice hardened to steel. “_Who was that? Someone's there with you. I heard them. Are you lying to me--_”

“Jared--”

“Oh fuck no. You have me waiting here like an idiot so you can talk to some other guy? I'm out.” His increasingly less of a Greek god got up and started gathering his clothes.

“Jared, hold on.” Jensen held his cell away and tugged pathetically at the other boy's pant leg. “Jeremy, wait--”

Jeremy's full lips -lips Jensen had been happily snacking on not five minutes ago- withered into a sour pout. “It's Ben,” and with that, he jerked the material from Jensen's grasp and drew his jeans up his muscular legs.

Jensen fleetingly realized he probably should have cared he'd gotten the name wrong, but he was already bringing the phone back to his ear, not that it mattered. Jared was shouting loud enough it could have been on speaker phone.

“_\--trying to tell you that they could kill me any day now and you're with some fucking john right now?!_”

“It's not like that, I swear!” Jensen's objection fell on deaf ears as Jared carried on. Every harsh word clenched his racing heart, inching and inching it up his throat, threatening to choke him.

By now, his hook up for the evening was dressed and stepped around Jensen's pitiful huddle on the floor, marching towards the door. Jensen watched him with wide, panicked eyes. He did and didn't want to be alone, not with the furious voice in his ear.

Ben paused at the door -probably waiting for a plea or an apology that wasn't coming- and looked down at Jensen with an ugly sneer. “Thanks for wasting my night.”

“Oh fuck you, Ben!” The venom burst from him with lethal speed.

The other boy only threw his head back with a forced laugh as he pulled the door open. “You fucking wish. Just remember, bitch, **you** crawled into **my** lap.” And with the slam of the door, he was gone, leaving Jensen to Jared's violent confusion.

“_You- you did what? Why would-- What were you-- Was he-- Is he your boyfriend?_”

“No! That guy was nobody!” Jared had to understand that. Jensen squeezed his phone tight to his ear. “You know that. Please just forget about him. He doesn't matter. Let's talk about you. What exactly did your lawyer say?”

The silence on the other end of the line was abrupt and terrified him. His ears strained to hear something -anything- but there was nothing. He checked to see if Jared had hung up on him, but the call's seconds were still ticking away.

“Jared?”

The line crackled with movement. The rush of relief he felt when the other man started to speak was short-lived at his darkly muttered words. “_... __A__m I a __G__oddamn joke to you?_”

Jensen's head twitched like a fly had buzzed closely past his ear. “Wh- what?”

“_Am-I-A-God-Damn-Joke-To-You? It's not a difficult question, Jen. Do you think it's funny to treat me like I'm some fucking idiot?_”

“Jay, no--”

“_Let. Me. Finish_,” snarled back.

Jensen cringed.

“_I call to tell you that I could die, and you hum along like you give a shit, all the while you're being bent over, spreading your ass like a fucking whore. I thought you were my friend. I thought I could trust you, but no. No, it's more important to get your ass filled with whatever random cock you can find_.”

The fierce denial burned on his tongue, unable to travel further than a gasp. He couldn't recognize the person talking to him. The pit in his stomach at Jared's news -at his hurt- began to fill with fear.

“_If you don't give a shit, why should I, right?_”

“Jared, that's not true. None of it. I **am** your friend, please--”

“_You're a fucking liar! A nasty hole to be used. Did you want me to listen to him fuck you? Like I wanna hear some asshole use you-- You seem to forget who I fucking am. You're lucky I'm not there, because right now -right now- I would wrap my hands around your pretty __fucking__ neck and __**squeeze**__\--_” His threat was severed by an angry sob. “_Fucking slut-- Fuck!_”

Jensen flinched, and this time he knew Jared had hung up on him. He stared unseeing in front of him. His stomach churned. He broke into motion, scrambling to the bathroom and throwing himself over the toilet. Beer and bile left him in heaving gushes. Tears burned his vision, blinding him to the mess. It almost felt good.

Distantly, he thought he heard his cell ringing beneath his hacking. That urge to run and answer wasn't there though. After a while he collapsed against the wall, face red and mouth sour. He waited for the ringing to stop and his phone battery to die. Then he waited even longer before he moved again.


	2. Chapter 2

Winter break passed in a mildly annoying blur. He went home, of course, and visited with his family. He had celebrated Christmas on autopilot. His mother had commented on how skinny he'd gotten and his father asked him how his classes were going, but thankfully his siblings were loud and entertaining enough to drown out his noncommittal responses. When the house was full of relatives from out of town, it was easy to slip away upstairs to his room and avoid the absolute noise of it all. If anyone were to come knocking, he'd point to an abundance of assignments that needed completing and no one would question it, because everyone knows _Little Jenny is the family egghead, yuk-yuk-yuk_. The workload was real, but the motivation was lacking.

New Years he spent in Danneel's parents' basement with a few other friends from high school after she had tracked him down and complained about her calls going straight to voice mail. With a shrug, Jensen claimed his phone was broken. Had been for weeks. In reality, it was just dead. Had been since that last call with Jared. When the clock struck midnight and people he hadn't seen (or even thought about) since graduation toasted the new year and Danneel smeared a sticky kiss against his cheek, he couldn't help thinking about Jared.

As much as he tried distracting himself, all of his thoughts inevitably gravitated back to Jared: How he was, what he was doing, was he wondering the same about Jensen. What were the holidays like for a man in Jared's position? His family didn't wait for a conviction to publicly disown him; as soon as news footage captured the first procession of bodies being wheeled out of his home, their outrage and disgust rivaled those of the families of the victims, although they seemed to be more offended by his sin of homosexuality than of murder. As for his friends, they must have been semi-decent people to not chase their fifteen minutes of fame; no one came forward to claim Jared Padalecki as their friend. The only person Jensen knew to have some sort of a relationship with Jared was his lawyer, and he couldn't help the anxiety that flooded him that he didn't (and probably would never) know what Mark Sheppard had told Jared to send him into a tailspin.

That thought alone greatly tested Jensen's willpower. Every other conscious minute of the day, Jensen wrestled with the urge to plug in his phone and see if Jared had called. What if he hadn't? What if Jensen had really fucked up with his drunken idiocy?

What if-- What if it was too late and they executed him just like Jared feared?

Jensen's hands would shake, and his eyes would sting when his musings would drift in that direction. That couldn't happen though. There would be news coverage; Jensen would know. He'd know if his project was over.

Yeah, that's what he cared about.

Even though Jared's rage had frightened him -maybe he was getting in too deep and the emotions struck too keenly- the temptation grew to be too much. The first thing he did upon his return to school was to drop his bag and dig out his charger. His leg bounced impatiently as his cell cycled through its opening screens. When it was finished, his phone dinged with missed calls and voice mails.

For the next hour, Jensen listened.

His listened to Jared's apologies, his voice rasping and aching like a fresh bruise. He listened to the mood swings, the bruise ruptured and bleeding freely. He listened to his confusion to how he could cut Jared off like this, abandon him when who knew how long he had left. His frustration that Jensen was overreacting; it was just a little fight; friends fight sometimes, don't they? That shouldn't mean Jensen could just throw away what they had. Mistakes were made on both sides. They just needed to talk it out, and did he mention he was sorry?

Jensen's guilt mounted with Jared's evidently growing misery, narrowing and sharpening and drilling a piercing hurt into his chest.

The last message was a day ago. There was a beep and then silence. Jensen pressed his ear harder into the receiver. When Jared finally did speak, his voice was eroded by stress and exhaustion. It splintered with every other word.

“_... I miss you. I don't know when, um, they're, um... Please talk to me. You don't understand. I'm so alone. You have the whole world; I just have you. Please._”

Jensen's resolve shattered with the other man's pleas. He couldn't even remember why exactly he took a break from talking to Jared. So Jensen got a little spooked, so what? He had set a goal for himself and come Hell or high water he was going to reach it.

The next time Jared called, Jensen would answer like he was supposed to.

:::

He didn't have to wait long. The next day when he was about to leave for class, his phone rang and despite residual reservations, he didn't hesitate hitting Accept and dropping his messenger bag to the floor.

“Hey,” he forced past the sudden lump in his throat.

The other man's response was slow to come, so much so Jensen wondered if he had answered a wrong number. When Jared did speak, his voice was small and full of awe.

“_You picked up._”

Nerves prickled under Jensen's skin like a wave of electricity. “Yeah, I did, um...” He rubbed his jaw. “I'm sorry I haven't been around lately. I've been---busy with the holidays and, uh, stuff.”

_Idiot._

“_That's okay. I'm not mad at all. I know talking to me can be a little... Anyway, I understand, I really do._” Jared's eagerness to please made him cringe. “_How were your holidays? I hope you didn't have to deal with any bullshit from your dad. I hope you're okay. Mine were-- … Did-- did you get my messages?_”

Jensen swallowed hard to clear the lump tying up his vocal chords. “I did. My phone was--” he stopped himself. Using the excuse he had for Danneel felt wrong. “To be honest... I just needed some space after last time we spoke--”

“_It's okay. We don't need to talk about it,_” Jared's interjection brooked no argument.

But still there was so much left to say. “Jared--”

“_I'm serious, Jen. I want to forget about it and move on. You've got a life outside of me, and I need to deal with that. I'm just so happy to hear your voice. These last couple weeks have been..._”

“Yeah...” He sniffed and raked his hand through his hair. It was never this hard talking to Jared. This stilted. To his relief, the other man picked up the conversation after clearing his throat.

“_Listen, some new developments have happened since, um--- there's things I want to get off my chest before--- just before._”

Jensen sat heavily on his bed with the plunging reminder of Jared's appeal weighing in his gut. The dread tempered the anticipation that lurched inside him. It could be happening. Jared was finally going to open up about something -everything- and Jensen didn't know if he was ready. “Okay, Jay, I'm listening.”

“_No, not-- not like this. I need to see you. Will you visit me? Please?_”

Everything inside him went still. His mouth had fallen open, but no words were forthcoming.

“_You're the only person I trust. It would mean everything to me._”

“I- I... I don't know, Jay--”

“_If it's money, I can pay for it: The flight, the hotel, anything you need._”

Jensen was shaking his head in a daze. “There's no way I'm taking your money. How could you even afford that?”

A secretive chuckle rattled through the phone. “_You'd be surprised at the amount of lonely men and women who send me gifts and money. I don't need much so I've been saving it up, but now I know why. The chance to see you is worth it. Will you come?_”

“Jay...” His bottom lip rolled uncertainly between his teeth. He didn't like the idea of accepting money from anyone, much less Jared, but that wasn't just it. There were other things to consider, critical details--

“_If you're worried about your safety, I can promise you'd be completely safe. On top of security cameras and guards, I can even have the warden call you to confirm all this. Do you want that?_”

Bewildered, Jensen shifted around on his bed, struggling to get comfortable. Nothing felt right. “That's not necessary--”

“_Unless you don't trust me_,” Jared murmured, hurt bruising his words. “_You're my friend. Do you think I would ever hurt you?_”

“No,” punched out from inside him like an unwanted impulse. He tore his glasses off and tossed them somewhere beside him, the space between his eyes pinching. “I didn't say that. I trust you, I do. I just-- you kinda sprung this on me and with everything going on, school and --”

“_Please, Jen? I'm not ready to die--_” That one syllable cracked open and bled. “_... I really need you. Please?_”

In spite of every one of Jensen's instincts screaming at him, he once again redrew the line of the boundaries he'd set before he started this project.

“I'll come,” he shakily declared.

Jared's tone lifted in wary hope. “_You will?_”

“If I do, I need you to really talk to me and be honest---about everything.”

“_Everything? Like what?_”

This was a risk, and Jensen had to swallow his doubt. “I think you know exactly what I'm talking about.”

“_Oh... I thought that stuff didn't matter to you... but okay. Whatever you want. So you'll really visit me?_”

“Sure, why not?” Jensen's casual agreement belied the rigid shrug the man on the phone couldn't see.

As Jared went on excitedly about dates and other details, Jensen oscillated between panic and a strange kind of calmness. A reluctant excitement building inside him saying this wasn't a great idea, but he told himself it wasn't the worst either. Sure, Jensen had made some allowances when it came to Jared, but he still had everything under control. Everything would be fine.

It wasn't until after the call ended, he realized he had forgotten to record any of it.

:::

He jerked awake, drenched in a cold sweat. Breathing fast, his eyes darted fruitlessly around in the darkness he found himself in. The horror thrumming through his veins conflicted with the hard pulsing between his legs. His hand absentmindedly drifted down his stomach and grazed the waistband of his tented pajamas.

Snoring from the next bed made him pause long enough to remember he was safe in his dorm with Rob sleeping only feet away. The adrenaline from his nightmare slowly faded, leaving him cold and confused. He couldn't recall what he had dreamt of to put him in such a state, but he woke up knowing there was something he needed to do.

It was a long shot. No better than a dead end, but something inside Jensen was urging him to at least try.

After closing himself off in the room's tiny bathroom, he scrolled and scrolled through his call history until he reached the number he was searching for. The drone of ringing -waiting impatiently for the call to connect already- was an earwig niggling into his ear canal yet he pressed the phone closer. He was tired and shaky and could have cried when the answering machine picked up. Since he last called, his demeanor was a far cry from clinically composed. He tried to ignore the shortness of his breath and the trembling thread stringing his words together.

“Hey, it's, uh-- it's Jensen Ackles again. I called before about-- I know you told me not to call again, but I really need to speak with you. Please? It's important--”

“_Well, you finally sound sufficiently terrified_,” answered the bored voice of -who Jensen had to assume- Matt Cohen. “_It's late. Why are you calling?_”

“Yes, I know it's late and I'm sorry, but I need to ask you about Jared--”

“_**Don't**__ say that name. I can't-- I won't talk about him. Shit, I don't even know why I picked up_.”

“No—no, please don't hang up! Jar-- He and I, we've been talking. He wants me to come visit him--”

“_Don't_.”

“I already said yes. I have to go--”

“_No, you don't have to._”

“Well, I want to okay?” Jensen barked and rubbed jittery fingers over his eyes. He let his head rest against the wall with a thunk. “... I'm going and there's no changing that. I'm sorry.”

“_... Then why are you bothering me?_”

He didn't really know anymore. The longer he was on the phone, the more ridiculous he felt.

“I don't expect you to tell me your story, not anymore. I just need to know how he operates. What I'm dealing with here.” He waited with climbing anxiety. He listened to Matt's heavy sigh. When he finally did speak, the regret dripping from his tone sent Jensen's stomach plummeting.

“.._. For your sake, kid, I hope you never find out. Don't go, and forget about him_.”

:::

The date was set, and Jensen was hellbent on doing all that he could to put that and the utterly useless -stupid- conversation with Matt Cohen out of his mind.

“Okay, I'm over the Vine compilations. What else is there?” A coldness nudged his elbow as Danneel dropped down beside him, and he took the imbalanced cocktail of rum and coke from her. He'd stopped wincing at the strong flavor refills ago.

“Fine, what do you want to watch?” He angled his laptop towards her and experimented with the safest way to drink his beverage and remain comfortably sprawled on his stomach. He didn't give a shit what she chose; it was all brainless laughter and background noise while he got to relax and spend time with his friend. A harmless distraction.

“I'm sick of YouTube,” she whined. “And wow, that's something I never thought I'd say. What movies do you have?” Ice clinked as she sipped her drink and raised manicured brows at him over the rim of her cup. His answering shrug was loose and his cocktail half gone.

“I dunno. Check my library.” His phone chirped, and it was a testament to how much he already drank that the sound didn't trigger his anxiety. “Food's downstairs. You pick something. I'll be right back.”

With a grunt, he hefted himself up and rolled over, more or less straddling her legs. They faced each other with a shared giggled before his feet touched down on the floor.

“Move your ass.” She swatted at him. “I'm fucking starving. Make sure they didn't forget my--”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He waved her off and grabbed his wallet for tip, draining the last of his drink. “Be back in a few.” His friend didn't answer, already engrossed in her quest to find something suitable to watch. Her eyes were glassy and floating across the screen.

Perhaps it was good that they ordered food when they did.

Nearly fifteen minutes later, which was twelve minutes longer than the whole process needed to be, Jensen ambled down his hall with a full to bursting bag of take out. He hadn't realized they'd ordered so much. He had to bat away an appalling amount of creeping hands attached to hungry eyes with smiling mouths declaring there was no way he could eat all that by himself and asking him to share.

Just as he was about to turn into his room, a barely audible sound -a laugh, maybe- came from the open door and struck a chord in him, stopping him in place. Then a litany of notes and a cadence of a voice he knew like an expert grew louder, and he almost dropped the bag of food dangling from his fingers.

“_Don't laugh, but... these calls, talking to you, it's the only thing that gets me through the day. I don't know what I'd do without you.”_

“_Why would I laugh about that, Jay? Honestly? I could kinda say the same. These calls are... everything to me. You're my friend. Some days I think you're my only friend.”_

“_Is it bad that that makes me happy?”_

“_That there's only you? Yeah, you fucking jerk.” _A soft laugh. Genuine. It was difficult to hear himself sound so at ease. Their hushed voices carried an intimacy he never fully realized.

Just at the revelation, fury spiked within him. Jaw locked, he entered the room, not surprised by what he say: Right where he left Danneel, but her previously floating gaze was fixed intently on his laptop. He slammed the door shut to announce himself.

The redhead jumped -caught- and the recording cut off. Her surprise lasted only seconds before her expression settled into sharp, tight lines. “... Jensen, what is this?”

“Research,” he responded through his teeth.

The careful breath she blew out set his nerves on edge. She combed her fingers in compulsive passes through her copper strands, gathering it up on top of her head only let it all drop in a fiery cascade down her back. “So... so what, you're talking to him on the phone now? And judging by this, it's been a lot. Almost every day-- for hours at a time?”

“Your point?”

“My poin-- Jensen seriously? You told me it was only going to be a few letters. This is...” Her dark eyes dropped down to the screen, no doubt scanning the lengthy call log. “Were you ever going to tell me about this?”

“Kind of a non-issue now, isn't it, what with you snooping through my computer.”

“It was an accident!” She pushed the laptop aside, hands raised in defense. “I just stumbled upon it. I didn't listen to much, but of what I did hear? Jensen, I'm really fucking concerned. You're telling him things. Things** I** don't even know about, and I'm your best friend-- at least I thought so, but according to this he's your only friend--”

“It's not like that--”

“Don't lie to me! I know you. You're a private person, and the things you're saying and- and how you're saying them? You sound different. I know how you sound when you're in lo—”

“I'm not lying,” he spat before she could finish that sentence. “Whatever you're thinking, that's not it. Phone calls make it faster to build a rapport. There's nothing for you to be worried about. I've got this under control.”

“Really? When does it end?”

“I just need a little more, okay?” To avoid her piercing stare, he turned to set the bag on his desk, shoving aside the hundreds of dollars worth of textbooks he hadn't so much as looked at in the last two weeks. The alcohol in his system dulled the tension he felt radiating from Danneel and loosened his lips in the most damaging way. “After the visit, I should have what I need.”

“Visit? What visit?” The questions' over-pronunciation was as deadly as a guillotine dropping. He flinched at his mistake, mouth going dry. “You're-- you're going to **visit** him?”

His back to her, his shoulders hunched in. His hands had a white-knuckle grip on his desk chair. “... His last appeal got denied. He asked. I said yes. I have to go, and that's all there is to it,” he concluded, more at Matt Cohen than the girl gaping at him.

Danneel was silent for a worrying stretch of time. He peeked to find her body tense, her hands smearing over her face in massaging motions. “... What are you doing, Jen?” When he didn't answer, her hands fell into her lap, revealing flushed, mascara-flecked cheeks. “Like, be honest. What in the actual fuck are you doing?”

Indignation wrenched his jaw apart. How many fucking times did he have to go over this? “I've already explained to you--”

“No!” Her hands slashed through the air, then she stopped herself and took a calming breath. Jensen chewed on his tongue. “No, maybe it started out that way, but you and I both know that that isn't what this is about anymore. For as -don't interrupt me- for as long as I've known you, you've been obsessed with this guy and you're going to go fucking meet him in person? Do-- do your parents even know about this?”

Tasting blood, his mouth opened with an irate click. Expression flat. “No. They don't. And frankly, it's really none of their business. I'm an adult.”

Danneel scoffed. “Right, and may I ask how you can afford this little field trip, you grown adult man you? Because I know for damn sure you're not raking in the big bucks by tutoring--”

“It's taken care of, alright?” he hissed, his patience worn thin.

She eased off the bed, angling to catch his eye. “Taken care of? Jensen... is he—paying for this?”

He glared stubbornly at the ground, his ears pink.

“Wow...” the word stretched out, grating. “So now he's your death row sugar daddy? Do you even realize you're basically whoring yourself out for a paper? All this for a Goddamn paper?”

His flinch was subtle, a barely perceptible ripple on the surface. He drew himself up to his full height, the hard angles of his face marble-smooth.

“I think it would be for the best if you leave.”

His dispassionate request might as well served as a slap to the face; the way Danneel's wide eyes looked at him said as much.

“No way, we're going to talk about this.”

“There's nothing to talk about. You've made your position quite clear.”

“Okay, so I should have phrased things a little differently--” _Just a little? _“--but I said them because I'm really worried about you.” She reached for his hands but he shook her off. “What you're doing? This isn't you.”

The smell of the food was beginning to nauseate him. “If you know me so well, then you know I meant it when I asked you to leave.”

“Jensen--”

“Go—please,” he demanded lowly. He held himself statue-still as she pleaded with him. Tranquil as he gazed out the window until she ran out of steam. Maybe he was taking a page out of Jared's book by choosing to remain silent instead of arguing like every ticking fiber in his being so wanted to. It seemed to work for Jared.

This time appeared to be no exception.

“Apparently I'm not going to get anywhere with you right now.” Warm, brown eyes invaded his line of sight. His Adam's apple bobbed. “Just know I'm not the bad guy here just because I want you to be safe. I love you, you know that, right?” She waited patiently for the minute dip of his chin. “I'll call you tomorrow, okay? We'll talk more then.”

He didn't move until he was sure she was gone, moving over to their small, makeshift bar to pour himself a drink. The food, he dumped in the lounge, his appetite gone; someone would eat it. As he settled back for his goal to finish the bottle, one thing became increasingly clear.

He was going, and there was nothing -and no one- that would stop him.

:::

Him and Danneel did not talk more about it, not due to Danneel's lack of trying. It was easy to avoid her and, subsequently, Chris. Their calls and texts went unanswered, and he had threatened Rob within an inch of his life to not let either of the pair into their room. Jensen stayed one step ahead of them if they tried cornering him while out anywhere by slipping out the back or burying himself in a crowd. He hoped eventually they'd get the hint, at least by the time he left. He already had his misgivings; he didn't need them squawking in his ear.

Instead, he spent his every waking moment riding on a wave of nerves. All he could focus on was his rapidly approaching trip.

Four days.

Three days.

Two days. Pack then the airport.

Tomorrow.

_Today._

Eyes squeezed shut, he blindly reached for the faucet and switched off the water, the smell of rust and mildew in his nose. His hands smoothed across his face, whisking away water and feeling for any patches his razor might have missed. The threadbare motel towel he reached for patted down his face. He paused. After a shower, shave, and wincing his way through inserting his contacts, there wasn't much left to do besides get dressed and go.

He buckled under the thought, planting his hands either side of the sink and breathing fast. His reflection was a pale and pitiful sight. The green of his eyes brightened by the whites shot through with red. The tender skin around them was a fetching shade of sleep-deprived.

Fuck. He was really doing this.

It hadn't sunk in really until now. Not at the airport where there was a ticket waiting for him, and not when he checked into his motel room with a king-sized bed, all paid for in advance.

This was real. This was happening. He was going to meet Jared Padalecki.

This wasn't just after months of waiting; this was years in the making, ever since he was that eight year-old boy watching the evening news. A lightning strike sensation.

He shouldn't think like that. If he did, the excitement bubbling within him might boil over into something more. If he did, his tossing and turning at night wouldn't be centered around stress but the ignored throbbing of his dick.

If he did, that would make Danneel right.

Worrying his lip, he drummed his fingers against the raised rim of the sink, his eyes cutting away from the splotches of heat streaking down his neck and making the freckles on his chest stand out like a rash. He hated what he was thinking about-- what he was even contemplating of the bottle tucked into his toiletry bag that was so within reach. The maybe—maybe—stop, no—_but maybe_ revolving around his head. The tension and indecision ratcheting higher and higher to the point his teeth broke skin -tasting the barest hint of copper- until he blew out a disgusted breath and broke into motion, reaching for the bag.

Twenty minutes later, he stomped out of his motel room, flushed and panting.

He had gone through metal detectors and pat downs. He even had to sign a release form basically saying in the event of a hostage situation, the prison would sooner let him die than save him in a negotiation. All those reassuring procedures, y'know?

Through it all, Jensen remained seemingly collected and insisting to himself he was a capable adult and he could do this. The guard escorting him, _Olsson_ his name tag read, tried to make small talk with him, but he was too distracted with suppressing the anxious swarm in his stomach and taking in his surroundings: The drab, off-white hall he was traveling down, the flickering fluorescent ceiling lights messing with his vision, and the stink of industrial cleaner and something he couldn't quite put his finger on -too many miserable bodies packed in one place- wrinkled his nose.

When Olsson drew to a halt and Jensen -not paying attention to him- bumped into him, he jumped away like a skittish animal. Olsson was kind enough not to say anything. He unlocked the door in front of them with a key card instead. Jensen opened his mouth to ask him to stop-- wait--give him a minute--he wasn't ready, but it was too late.

The guard swung the door inward to a room of moderate size with a strip of windows set high towards the ceiling, the kind of room inmates must meet their lawyers in for privacy. Jensen only vaguely cataloged all this, his attention drawn immediately to the tall man bathed in natural light rising from the table in the center.

Jensen's breath caught and held.

The years had been kind to Jared Padalecki. Make no mistake, he was paler and thinner compared to the golden god from those early days of press coverage, bulky muscles having given away to lean, wiry limbs. His shaggy mane possessed some streaks of silver, but the devilishly handsome face was still there and amidst fine lines of age was his blinding smile. He looked good, not wasting away from impending death like Jensen had imagined.

“Jensen,” he greeted on the tail end of a happy sigh and just hearing that voice in person lured Jensen in like a siren's song, drawing him across the room's threshold.

Jensen could only croak an approximation of “Hey,” but he stopped short as the other man stood tall and moved swiftly towards him on mile-long -_unshackled_\- legs and held out one large -_unrestrained_\- hand. Jensen nearly leapt out of his skin when the guard spoke up behind him.

“Well, you kids have fun.” His sly wink paired with a sleazy grin set Jensen's face on fire. Jensen lunged to stop him, careful to not put his back to Jared and darting his eyes between the two.

“You're--” His tongue worked in nervous swipes over his lips. “You're not gonna stay? Where are you going to be if I need you?”

Olsson's blue gaze cut over him to Jared as the other man spoke up. “Jen, relax. Come sit down. Do you want anything to drink? I know it's going to be lunch soon.”

The plea hidden under those consoling words ate away at Jensen's resolve. Jared's outstretched hand was still waiting.

… Jensen had already come this far, hadn't he?

Fighting to steady his shaking hand, he placed it carefully into Jared's smooth, dry palm where long fingers closed around it like a Venus Flytrap. He cursed the blush he could feel blooming. The heavy steel door slammed closed behind him, and it rattled through his bones.

It was just the two of them now. He was alone with Jared Padalecki.

“Wow,” Jared murmured, contemplative as he studied Jensen's face. Jensen froze from the sudden, close proximity.

“What?” He was wary to move. “Something wrong?”

The corners of the other man's pink mouth curved into an appreciative grin. “You have freckles. I didn't know that. The camera flash must have bleached them out.” He turned away and led them both to the table. “I like them. They make you look younger.”

With his back turned, he missed Jensen's torn expression of discomfort and satisfaction.

They sat opposite of each other with Jared scooting his chair in and sitting up straight. Silence reigned for an awkward minute. Where Jensen's eyes were flitting around the room, Jared's gaze was centered steadily on him. Keen, fox-like eyes drinking him in.

Jensen fidgeted under that unwavering stare. He looked away and cleared his throat. “So...”

“Did you have any trouble getting here? The flight, the hotel, all that okay?”

He nodded, wiping his sweaty hands against his jean-clad thighs. “All good, no issues. Th-thanks for being so generous.”

“No need to thank me. I invited you, remember? I'm just--” Brushing his hair back from his face, Jared leaned forward and his voice dipped into conspiratorial. “I'm still processing the fact that you're actually here. In front of me.”

Jensen couldn't stop the disbelieving snort that left him. **Jared** was the one having trouble processing Jensen's presence?

At the other man's puppy dog confusion, he explained, “I think you've got it backwards. You're... you. I remember seeing you on the news when I was a kid. I can't really wrap my head around you wanting to meet me before your-- This is just as trippy for me as if it is for you.”

For the first time, Jared looked away. A blush painted the high planes of his face. “... Of course, I had to meet you. You're you. Also--” His eyes flickered towards him. The navy sleeve of his prison uniform swiped against his reddened nose. “--your pictures didn't really do you justice.”

Jensen's answering grin came unbidden, and he muffled it with a small, self-deprecating laugh. “I don't know about that... If you're surprised, did you think I was catfishing you?”

Jared shook his head, the lines of his forehead furrowing. “'Catfishing'?”

Right, he wouldn't know that.

“Sorry, it's a term meaning someone who creates a fake persona to lure people into a relationsh--” He stopped himself and bit back a grimace. “But it's mainly online and people sending fake pictures that's not them.”

“Oh okay.” Jared nodded along, still looking like he didn't quite understand the concept. “I'm relieved that's not the case here.”

“No, not—not at all.” Jensen shrunk in his chair, fending away his mild guilt. He wasn't lying for kicks; he had good reason. “Anyway,” he started, wanting to change the subject, “How have you been? Any news about when they'll...?”

The unspoken _when they''ll execute you_ hung in the air.

Jared's expression flickered through a range of emotions: Startled, thoughtful, then settling on indifference. His broad shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. Untroubled. Before the door opened, he replied in cooled distraction. “Oh, that. No, haven't heard anything yet, but fingers crossed, right?” He flashed a quick smile which Jensen reflected with his own anemic imitation.

As trays of food were placed in front of them, something about Jared's response compared to that distressed phone call niggled at him. Jensen shrugged it off though. Maybe Jared had come around to accepting it, the five stages of grief and all that. As long as Jensen got the answers he needed, he could overlook behavior that could be considered out of character.

Over tepid food and flimsy, plastic cutlery, they chatted about the normal nonsense they were accustomed to. Jensen hardly tasted the stringy chicken and limp vegetables as all of his efforts to subtly steer the conversation towards the reason for him being there were swiftly shut down by the other man. As surprisingly pleasant as all this was, Jensen didn't want to talk about his trip or school or his life in general. And for the love of God, he didn't want to talk about how the fucking Cowboys were looking this year. All he really wanted to talk about was sitting right in front of him, shoveling food past his wide smile and drawing Jensen in with his ever-changing eyes of blue, green, and gold.

He finally reached his breaking point when a small cup of half-melted vanilla ice cream was sat in front of him. If Jared had a tail, it would be wagging at a maddening speed.

“It's not coconut crème pie, but it's the best they have in the kitchens. I hope you like it.”

Faced with such a hopeful smile, Jensen picked up his spoon, but after a moment he set it back down. His small shrug was a struggle as the metaphorical wagging tail came to a stop.

“No thanks, I'm pretty full... I was, um, wondering when you wanted to talk about those things you wanted to get off your chest?”

“Oh...” Now the sunny grin fell into a flat line. “That... Can't we save that for another time?”

Jensen was already shaking his head, the furrow of his brow clashing with his quizzical smile. “Jay, come on, you know there's no other time to save this for. I'm here -now- and you promised me.”

Well before he even wrote Jared, he'd planned all the things he wanted to ask the man across from him, all the areas he wanted to touch on. Now though... now all that preparation had flown right out of his head and his thoughts were a harried, jumbled mess.

“We-- we can start with how you chose your victims. Were they premeditated or just-- just a matter of convenience or both, maybe?”

The older man didn't jump to respond to any of his clumsy questions. His face blank. His gaze trained on the rejected dessert melting between them.

Jensen tried to stifle his sigh. “Jay--”

“I'm innocent, remember? You told me you believed that and now you're asking me about victims?”

“I did-- I do.” This time Jensen did sigh. “I believe it's not all black and white. There's just some things I need to know.”

“_Need_? Kind of a strange imperative for an aspiring model and part-time prostitute, don't you think?”

All this answering a question with a question. A classic tactic of Jared's from interviews. Jensen had done his research. He wasn't going to fall into that trap. He wasn't going to crumble.

“What about Colin Ford, for example? Witnesses placed you offering him work at Ferris Hardware while he was there applying for a job--”

Jared's stony face cracked with curiosity. “Who?”

“Jared,” Jensen ground out through his teeth, resisting the urge to give into his annoyance. “Your last appeal fell through. We don't have the time for these games--”

“Actually, Jen, that's where you're wrong.” Jared slid from his chair and stretched, looking gigantic from Jensen's seated position. “The way I see it, we've got all the time in the world.”

Jensen went still as he watched the play of muscles under Jared's uniform as he sauntered around the table. Jensen was glued to his chair, fingers clinging to the seat's edge with an aching grip. He forgot how to breathe when Jared came up behind him and stooped down, his breath tickling Jensen's ear.

“Do you wanna know why I say that?”

Eyes straining to see as much as his peripheral vision could of Jared, his head jerked in a nod.

“Well...” the other man started, the smile evident in his voice. Jensen would know; he'd heard it countless times before. A large hand slithered over his shoulder and picked up the spoon. “I actually did receive some news regarding my appeal.” Scooping up a dollop of the softened ice cream, he brought it up to the trembling seal of Jensen's lips, and Jensen only hesitated long enough to feel a warning squeeze on the scruff of his neck. “Good boy,” rumbled into his ear as the sweet dessert was slid delicately into his mouth.

As Jensen rolled the vanilla on his tongue -his throat refusing to work properly- Jared continued on, “Turns out the prison is making quite a few budget cuts. Fun fact, did you know it's more expensive for the prison to have me on death row and kill me? Crazy, huh? And since I've been such an upstanding citizen all these years, my sentences got commuted to life without parole. So when I say we've got all the time in the world, we really do.”

While he spoke, Jensen kept facing forward, paralyzed, his mind racing to process. So—so Jared had lied to get him here? Had he never intended to open up to Jensen about anything? What did he want then? Which was a dumb question when Jared's intentions were made clear. That same hand that spoon-fed him tenderly took him by the chin and turned his head to come face to face with the dimples his eight year-old self wanted to wiggle his fingers into to see how deep they were.

Jensen dazedly realized he was close enough to find out.

“Isn't that good news, Jen? We're celebrating.” With that, grinning lips descended towards his and Jensen's paralysis broke. He reared back and toppled from his chair. He staggered away from the shuttered frown on the other man's face until his back hit the wall. The ice cream was a sludge down his throat.

“Jay-- Jared, that's great,” his voice cracked, the words tumbling out mechanically. “Great news. Congratulations.” His brain kept stuttering on what the fuck just happened—almost happened—could have happened—what he wanted to happ—fuck!

Like a king cobra, Jared smoothly rose to his full height, rolling the breadth of his shoulders back. Dark, unreadable eyes skewered Jensen across the room.

“Don't ever do that again. Don't pull back from me. You've been teasing me for months, and you can't just take it back.”

“Teasing?” Jensen questioned. “What-- what are you talking about? I haven't--”

“Don't. Lie.”

He wasn't lying, was he? Then he remembered the pictures and the gentle manipulations and the -_oh God_\- what he did in the bathroom before coming here.

Perhaps Jared wasn't the only one between them Jensen had been lying to.

The other man began to stalk towards him, and the low thrum of panic within him intensified. He flattened himself against the wall, pushing at the unforgiving surface, hoping to merge with it. His eyes jumped around faster than his heart palpitations, jumping to Jared—the door past him—Jared—the windows above that were high out of reach—Jared—the security camera mounted in the ceiling with no telltale red light—Jared—

“Wait, let's talk about this. You-- you just surprised me is all. Don't-- don't come any closer.” His voice shook with the command, coiling the tight line of Jared's mouth into a smirk.

“I don't think you mean that.”

Jensen watched, helpless, as the distance between them shrank. This was what the mouse must feel when dropped into the snake's cage to be eaten as Jared's massive body pressed along his front and long arms blocked him in. Jensen's splayed hands were twitching and useless against the rough concrete. Where Jensen's lungs were too small to draw in an adequate breath, Jared's head nudged close, his pointed nose tracing the line of Jensen's jaw to reach the patch of skin below his ear and inhaled deep. He slumped against Jensen with a tortured groan.

“Mmm, you smell just like your letters.”

Jensen gulped, his voice faint. “Jay, move back or I'll-- I'll scream.”

Instead of listening, the other man chuffed a truly amused laugh against the spot he'd been scenting, the hot rush sending shivers through Jensen's frame. “Jen, Jen, Jen,” he tsked, slowly shaking his head. He drew back to gaze deeply at him, the humid air between them filled with the ivory soap Jared must use and the acrid tang of sweat. His tone was indulgent like he was sharing a secret.

“Baby, do you have any idea how long it would take for the guards to get here if you screamed? I could kill you right now if I wanted to. You know that, don't you? You know that. But I've got better plans for you. You see that table over there. Go on, look.”

It was almost physically impossible to tear his eyes away from twinkling hazel ones to dart a glance over his shoulder to the lone table in the room where they just had lunch.

“You see, I'm gonna fuck you on that table, and if you're good, after I'm done maybe I won't wrap my hands around this pretty, little throat of yours and squeeze till it breaks.” His smile gleamed shark-white.

Reacting to his words, something inside Jensen thrilled and sank with fear, because that sounded less like a threat and more of a promise. There had to be a way out of this. Jensen was smart and reasonable; they both were.

His vocal chords were tight and strained like Jared's hand was there already choking. “Why are you talking to me like this, Jay? I'm your friend--”

“Of course, you are.” It was jarring how seamless his predatory glee morphed into warm empathy, earnestness etched into every line of his face. “Of course, you're my friend. My best friend. Remember when you wanted to know if it was random or -what did you call it- _premeditated_? It's simple really...” His hands slid from the wall and latched around Jensen's biceps. The tips of their noses touched, his breath caressing Jensen's lips.

Despite his fear, Jensen hated how _handsome_ he still found the other man.

Jared's lips parted to reveal an animal sneer, and he whispered, “I see something I want... and I **take** it.” His grip seized like iron clamps, and Jensen's world spun.

The table's edge knocked the wind out of him. As he coughed and gulped for air, he finally remembered to struggle. Arms swung and tried pushing off the table, sending the cup of ice cream crashing to the floor in a soupy arc. His legs kicked out as his body twisted and bucked. The man behind him didn't seem fazed by his efforts, efficiently gathering Jensen's flailing arms in one hand and wrenching them back and kicking his legs so far apart, Jensen couldn't stand if he lifted one foot off the floor.

He fell still, panting, his energy zapped. “Jared, he huffed, “Get off me.”

Jared's free hand drifted up his side, rucking up Jensen's shirt and smoothing his hand over every inch of skin he exposed. Jensen jerked at the touch, goosebumps erupting all over his body, his dick twitching.

“I wonder...” The whisper of fingertips tripped down the knobs of his spine. “If you have freckles everywhere.” They grazed his waistband, teasing.

Growing hot, Jensen drew in a shuddered breath. “Jared, I mean it, get off.”

Remarkably, Jared's hands retreated -tricking Jensen into slightest relief- before arms folded across his shoulder blades and the other man propped himself along his back, his voice a conversational hum in his ear.

“Is it because you think I'm taking this for free? I'm not sure what your rates are, Jenny, but technically I've already paid. The plane, the hotel? I **own** this ass.”

A vicious squeeze assaulted Jensen's ass cheek, and he squeaked.

“And also? I think you're loving this.”

The other man's hand reached around and grabbed at the stretched material concealing Jensen's aching cock. This time Jensen choked on the spit gathering in his mouth as his legs collapsed. Jared took that opportunity to hoist him further up on the table where his toes just brushed the floor and his package pinched, not that that would help his erection go down any. He was almost dizzy with it. He forgot to fight Jared when one hand traced down the back seam of his pants.

“Of course you're loving this. This is what whores do. I wonder how many strangers you let fuck this ass. You're disgusting, you know that?”

“I'm not!” Jensen bit out, not thinking and pulling at the hand pinning his arms. All he knew was he could not have Jared thinking of him that way. “I'm not disgusting. I'm not-- I'm not a prostitute, okay? I never was.”

The older man's idle ministrations paused. “You're not?”

Rubbing his forehead into the cold tabletop, he squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

“Then the stories, the bastard that beat you up, that was all bullshit?”

Another reluctant nod.

“Why would you lie about that?”

Jensen chewed on his tongue, not answering immediately. He couldn't tell Jared the truth, because for some insane reason Jensen felt like he could still complete his project, that he still had control, that he wasn't completely out of his depth.

“I just wanted to get your attention. It was all fake.”

“... That guy on the phone wasn't fake.” The unrelenting hold on Jensen's wrists tightened -making him hiss- as fingers worked at his fly with impatient tugs. “So all this time you've been messing around with college boys, waiting for a real man to fuck you the way you need.”

The absolute and undeniable electricity that zinged through Jensen at those words.

“No, you're not a whore; you'd be getting paid. That just makes you a _slut_.”

His jeans along with his underwear were yanked down, and Jensen trembled under the cool air on his newly bared skin. He looked to the door only several feet away, wondering if anyone was going to come rescue him or -fuck- if he even wanted to be rescued.

And just that thought horrified him.

Soon enough all thought left him as two, giant hands grasped each of his butt cheeks, massaging and spreading him wide. His gasp was drowned out by the punched out exhale behind him.

“What do we have here?”

Jensen stilled, his ears burning scarlet. He was so hyper-focused on the shock of cold air on his hole and the stare he could feel drilling into it, he didn't notice his arms had been released and were lying crossed over the small of his back all on their own. All he was aware of was the fingertip circling the shining, pink gape of his asshole.

“Aww, baby, did you get yourself ready for little, ol' me?” Jared's croon dissolved into a chuckle. “Well, not little.”

Jensen would have rolled his eyes at the cliché joke, but just then Jared pressed the line of his clothed erection against him like a searing brand through his jumpsuit and just the rough friction against his hole was enough to have Jensen biting back a whimper and needing that dick in him right that second, the denial he'd been living with be damned.

He wanted this. He's always wanted this.

“Suck.” Two fingers fish-hooked the corner of his mouth, and his lips parted without hesitation as he turned his head, licking and sucking and drooling as much spit as possible onto those fingers. He flushed with a mixture of pride and shame at the small humping motions against his hip and the quiet expletives above him.

“Damn, I wish there was time to have that mouth of yours, but there's only so much Ty can do. I just need--” The fingers were torn from his mouth with a nasty slurp and prodded at Jensen's ass, slipping both inside instantly.

Jensen gasped at the feeling. It had been hours since he had hastily fingered himself at the motel, but that prep paled in comparison to the sensation of Jared's long fingers scissoring into him, the thick bolts of his knuckles catching on his rim. He could only imagine how good it would be when--

Jared grazed that spot inside of him, and he cried out, his once crossed arms smacking down onto the table. He bucked back, hopelessly addicted to that feeling.

“Such a good boy. Way better than the others,” Jared murmured, sounding entranced by that fact, shooting heat to Jensen's cheeks and ice down his spine. His other hand groped and kneaded Jensen's ass in savage pulses like the normal component of violence needed to be present, even idly and despite Jensen's submission.

“I wonder what else have you been lying to me about?” His fingers receded and -to Jensen's shock- stayed that way. He craned his neck around to see why Jared would stop only to discover he was staring back, composed save for a slight blush across the bridge of his nose. His brow was raised, waiting.

“No- nothing. There's nothing,” Jensen spat, voice bordering on frantic.

“What about the relationship you wouldn't tell me about? The one that just didn't work out?”

“It was just high school bullshit,” he edged into a snarl. “You want to talk an awful lot for someone who hasn't fucked in ages. Now will you--”

Jared was unmoved by his barbs, face stoic and tapping his fingers against Jensen's hole. “Nuh uh, something happened. Something interesting. What?”

Jensen's frustration spiked, but he held back his curses. He looked away from the other man's stupid curiosity and glared at his own warped reflection in the table's metal surface. He didn't want to think about that. He could wait the bastard out if he wanted to... but there was something he wanted a little bit more and considering what had happened, who more appropriate to confess his most damning transgression than to present company?

The story left him haltingly. Each word like pulling teeth.

“... It was my junior year. He was my first boyfriend, and we'd been dating for months. We were taking things slow, and that was okay. One night, he took me out for a drive in his truck. We parked in a field. He said there was a meteor shower or some shit.” Even now the memory of Tom's fumbling explanation and the romantic set-up he blushed furiously over brought a ghost of a smile to his face. “There were blankets and candles and flower petals, not roses because he couldn't afford those. It was all so... sweet.”

“Then what happened-- did he hurt you?” Jared's tone was a tense blend of dangerous and fascinated.

Jensen was already shaking his head, resigned to this. “No, he would never. It was me. It was all my fault--” He hiccuped at the unexpected intrusion of fingers slowly corkscrewing back inside him. He rushed to finish, to get it over with, to keep those fingers fucking into him. His faced burned anew with humiliation. “We never had much in common, but it worked. I wanted it to work. I just didn't realize... I forgot myself that night. It was both our first times and I was just so lost in it that--” His mouth snapped shut. Even to this day, he couldn't say it.

“What?” Jared pressed. The sounds of rustling fabric and the quickening of his fingers disguised the bite of impatience.

Jensen's hips rocked back into the speed increase, his need growing bigger than his aversion. His bottom lip swelled crimson when his teeth let go of it.

“I didn't realize the resemblance until he pushed into me and I cried out your name instead of his.”

And there it was. God damn it, Danneel was right. This was never just about a paper to him.

“Did you really?”

His head moved in desperate jerks. He couldn't bear to see the other man's reaction, but the heavy silence that followed couldn't have meant anything good. Ashamed, Jensen opened his mouth to say something -he didn't know what- but the sound of hawked spit and the muted slapping of skin hit his ears.

“Well, here's your chance to have the real deal,” rumbled from Jared before a blunt pressure was at his entrance and steadily pushing into him, stealing his breath. He didn't stop until he was firmly rooted inside Jensen.

Jensen had seconds to adjust to the burning pain of too much, too fast, too big, and not enough lube before Jared was withdrawing only to thrust back in. His hands scrambled against the table for something to hold on to as his forehead mashed into it, his breath fogging up its surface. The pace Jared set was quick and brutal and surprisingly thorough. Jensen didn't have to see it to know how long and thick Jared's cock was; he could feel it stretching him open and pulling out until just the tip remained then slamming his full length back in, carving out a place for himself. Jensen whimpered with every inch.

Eventually the pain dimmed enough for the pleasure to come through. Muffled curses rained down from Jared's mouth and meshed with the sweat pooling in the dip of Jensen's back. Hands gripped his hips -printing bruises that had Jensen's dick leaking onto the table- and yanked him onto the cock spearing him. Being forced closer, Jensen was able to get his feet under himself and he wasted no time pushing back onto that glorious cock.

_Jared Padalecki's_ glorious cock.

He moaned, his movements stuttering at the thought. That knowledge paired with the thrusts battering his prostate, nothing had ever felt this filling; not the random hook-ups, not his exotic collection of dildos, nothing.

“Shit-yes-so good for me,” Jared exhaled and Jensen could only moan in agreement.

Without warning, Jensen was devastatingly empty and those hands cradling him black and blue were flipping him over like a rag doll. Jensen landed on his back, dazed. Wet eyes devoured and imprinted into his brain the image of Jared towering over him: His hair was a wild halo around his head, his beautiful face wrenched in desire with his uniform torn open to reveal his heaving chest. Jensen's appraisal followed the dark smattering of chest hair to the bumps of his ribs and down to the trail of hair that led to his...

Jensen's head thumped back with an overwhelmed whine. Just the sight of that hard, red flesh smearing slick against his thigh had him clamping the base of his erection and spreading his legs as far as the pants still tangled around his ankles would allow. Jared saw this struggle and, with an open-mouthed smirk, ripped his jeans the rest of the way off, taking one of Jensen's shoes with them. His thighs twinged with how far Jared forced them apart, and a squeeze signaled Jensen should keep them that way.

In the time it took to do all this before Jared was lining himself back up again, the haze had cleared some and a glaring detail shocked Jensen into flinching back with a different brand of panic.

“Condom,” he choked out. He never went without, and he should have _felt_ the difference sooner, but he was so caught up in how hot and real and--

Jared's palms petted the sensitive skin of his inner thighs and coaxed them back open. “Sh, sh, don't worry, sweetheart. I always wore a condom with the others. Always, But you?” His gaze roved over Jensen's splayed body, something worshipful in his blown pupils. “You're special.”

Hearing that, a small hidden place inside him cracked open. Jensen didn't wait for Jared to sink back in. Once he felt the tip poised to enter, his legs wrapped around Jared's lean torso and drew him back inside with a single, hard shove, arching his spine and weakening Jared knees with a grunt.

Jared soon shook away his surprise, rocking forward until he was outright slamming his cock into Jensen. The slapping of skin competed with Jensen's low keening.

Jared's hands were restless and wandering. Jensen swore he could feel them everywhere, everywhere below the razor lines of his collar bones. They would work their way up to that invisible boundary, stop, then retreat, curling away like they'd been scalded.

“Jay,” Jensen moaned. He caught and held the other man's eyes. His fingers circled Jared's wrists and brought them upward, crossing over his chest and laying them at the base of his neck. Jensen's sighed words were spun sugar and reassuring. “It's okay. Come on, it's okay.”

Jared's savage rhythm stuttered to a halt. Hazel eyes wide and glinting. They studied Jensen like he was some fantastic new species. Wary still, his hands folded around the pale length of Jensen's throat. Jensen's Adam's apple jumped under one stroking thumb.

“It's okay.” He arched his neck into the loose hold. Common sense was shrieking at him, but this felt important. Like trust. There was no denying the blurt of precome that oozed from his dick as he felt Jared's hands surround his neck, encircling it like a collar.

He felt owned.

And when an experimental squeeze dented his flesh, his pathetic mewl was all the permission Jared needed. The cock inside him started back up its punishing pace. Jensen's yelp died away in a strangled gasp. With his airway constricted, somehow Jared felt bigger; he swore he could feel his cock shoving past his guts and pushing out broken exhalations, his lungs spasming with no fresh oxygen to replace them.

“Fuck, you're perfect,” Jared growled into his ear.

Jensen's throat burned. The pressure on it was firm and unrelenting.

He glowed under the other man's praise.

When the abrupt sting of teeth attacked his chest -marking him- the pain was secondary to his head feeling as if it were about to explode. The frame of his vision was rippling like a watercolor painting, eating away at the edges so all he could see was Jared hovering over him, fucking into him with wild-eyed intensity.

All this time, he'd been trying to remain calm, but the longer he went without air, instinctual panic had him starting to thrash under the older man's grip. Jared groaned, grinding his dick into his contracting heat and puffing cruel gusts of air into his scarlet face. Jensen's hands clawed at vascular forearms until they weakened. His legs around Jared slid off. His wet eyelashes fluttered closed.

Jared wasn't going to stop.

Jensen could feel himself slipping away like he was falling asleep. He wondered in detachment if Jared was going to kill him. Just keep squeezing and squeezing until his larynx was crushed, and Jensen was to be his final victim.

_But I was the best_, his delirious mind supplied.

Just then the pressure around his airway eased just as Jared's cock nailed his prostate and a rush unlike anything he'd ever felt before surged through him, a euphoria that sent him careening over the edge and he came untouched, spurting between their stomachs.

He laid there, shivering and gulping for air as Jared's thrusts turned ragged until he went rigid, his cock pulsing. He collapsed forward with a hoarse shout of “Jen.”

Head pounding, Jensen didn't flinch under the solid weight on top of him. His greedy inhales gradually met Jared's deep pants until they both settled into a serene cadence. The cooling sweat on his skin contrasted with the furnace that was Jared. Come seeped out around the softening cock still inside of him, hitting the table in lazy drops. Jensen's movements were lethargic as he draped his limbs around the other man, gathering him close.

Jared jerked but didn't pull away. He looked up when shaky fingers combed through the matted tangles of his hair to see the bruises that were surely blossoming along Jensen's throat and above them, Jensen's wobbly smile. A line appeared between Jared's brows while his mouth slanted into a frown.

When those combing fingers twined in the strands tucked behind his ears and urged him closer and their lips met for the first time in a soft kiss, his face smoothed into gentle bewilderment. His dick twitched, and Jensen expelled a pained, raspy laugh.

:::

_Months Later..._

The deadline for the term paper came and went.

Jensen didn't even bat an eye. The letters, the recordings, those were his to keep. They weren't meant to be weighed and measured by a man like Professor Omundson.

No, they were Jensen's and Jensen's alone.

When he had returned from his trip and Danneel could see something had fundamentally changed in him, he knew she wouldn't be able to keep her mouth shut. She told his parents everything. Well, not everything since there were details that the redhead wasn't privy to. As to be expected, his parents were appalled and mortified; they even insisted on Jensen returning home and going to see a therapist. They needed to know why, how, what had they done wrong to screw up their son so fantastically.

His reassurances fell on deaf ears. He wasn't crazy or lashing out for attention or _punishing them_; it just... he couldn't explain it.

It just fit.

That had not been a good enough answer “for this insanity,” and they threatened to cut him off, school included. In his mind, that was hilarious considering at the time of this ultimatum, Jensen had already dropped out and had a little apartment picked out states away, closer to home.

Closer to Jared.

The apartment was no bigger than the dorm room he left behind, but it was all his. His friends and family just needed a little time to adjust. He could wait. In the mean time, he had Jared, and Jared was enough. Even when Jensen's grueling cashier job frustrated him or the times the loneliness in a new city gnawed at him and making new friends was out of the question, because Jared would get adorably jealous. They still talked on the phone almost every day, and that was enough. The weekly, Saturday visits were enough, too.

Most times when he got to see Jared, it was behind shatter-proof glass, just like everyone else. They laughed and spoke in hushed voices, mindful of the many ears around them, not that anything particularly illegal was discussed, more like explicit acts Jared wanted to do to him that had Jensen -cheeks pink- hissing there were children in the room.

Some times, Jensen would find old habits die hard, and he'd ask Jared the odd question about the boys he'd killed, but Jared would only flash that puppy dog smile of his and declare he didn't want to think about a time before Jensen; Jensen was all that mattered. And Jensen, the lovesick fool, would let it go, preening under the other man's endless adoration. Jared could have his secrets for now; after all, Jensen had the project as his own.

This specific visit was of the rare and most anticipated variety. Opposed to his first time making this trek down this familiar hall, his nerves were buzzing with excitement instead of apprehension, and he was happy to chat with his escort.

The guard, Olsson, and Ty -Jared's connection to outside amenities- turned out to be one and the same. Without him, Jensen's access and therefore his relationship with Jared wouldn't have been possible. The man did the best he could smuggling in burner phones for Jared or orchestrating these pseudo-conjugal visits under the guise of Jared meeting with his legal counsel. He and Jensen were gradually becoming decent friends, even though a good portion of Jensen's meager paycheck went into the man's pocket.

Key card reader flashing green, Jensen didn't hesitate slipping into the room and shutting the door behind him with a hasty thanks. The time limits fluctuated, and he didn't want to waste a second. He flung himself into Jared's arms, breathing in the other man as his dick started to harden. His ass was open and waiting. He pulled back enough to yank Jared down into a hungry kiss, fingers working to get rid of clothes, but Jared rested his hands over his and stopped him. His face twisted in confusion.

“Jay, what the hell. You know we don't have much time.”

“I know,” Jared breathed, joining their hands properly and intertwining their fingers. “Just-- slow down, okay?”

Jensen tried not to gape. _Slow down?_ Those were not the kind of words that would leave his Jared's mouth. Now that Jensen was taking a closer look though, Jared did look paler, his eyes red-rimmed, and his hair more unkempt than usual like he'd been running his hands through it a lot like he tended to do when there was something on his mind. And there -Jensen could feel it- the fine tremor running through his hands.

Alarm filled him. He thought the other man sounded a bit off last night on the phone, but Jared had only dismissed it as adjusting to being around people more -thankfully no cellmate yet- and Jensen had brushed it off. Now, he wasn't so sure.

“Jay, what's wrong? Did something happen?”

Seeing the growing alarm on Jensen's face, a nervous laugh popped from his bloodless lips. “I'm hoping something will,” he said cryptically.

Jensen opened his mouth to ask him what the fuck was going on then, why were they just standing there staring at each other when Jared could be fucking him against the wall when Jared gave his hands one more squeeze before he slid to his knees.

Jensen's eyes bulged from their sockets. _Maybe he's giving me a blow job_, he thought, a little hysterical, as he watched Jared dig in his pocket and retrieve something.

Jensen's heart was a bleeding, seizing creature in his chest.

Looking down at Jared was a new experience; one he never thought he'd see outside of riding him. As Jared gazed up at him with round eyes, Jensen swayed on his feet and licked his dry lips. The other man looked younger, his face a lovely mess of scared and lost.

A thin, silver ring rose into view between them. Jensen could only stare at it, slow to comprehend, his green eyes moving between the plain band and Jared's open fear.

Little by little, a smile bloomed across his face.

It's like Jensen told his parents, it just fit.


End file.
